Don't Let Me Drown
by raaeebrucee
Summary: Dean can't remember how he got here— he fights, breaks bones and bodies with his fists, uses a cage as his playground. But this war goes beyond the cage. With Triple H after his brothers and Stephanie McMahon sinking her claws into an innocent woman, the only way to save them is to sacrifice himself. Nameless, faceless, expendable…? Not anymore. He is their reckoning.(AU) COMPLETED
1. The Beginning

**\- a tentative beginning to something that's out of my comfort zone, a post apocalyptic and illegal cage fighting AU where nothing is like anything we know. kinda inspired from watching the Lost River. depending on the reception i.e. reviews, i'll continue this.**

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The road was wet, slick with the drizzle that was pouring from the heavy clouds. He couldn't remember the last time he saw the sun rise over the horizon, couldn't remember the last time he watched it set, just knew that when he got behind the wheel, it was eyes on the road and no where else. He'd had too many close calls to start being stupid now.

There was one car in front of him, none behind. _The road less travelled_.

Never stayed in one place too long to get comfortable, always moving from town to town. He'd taken a risk with Vancouver, stayed for a month, long enough to fight for a couple of thousand and then disappeared into the darkness of the night.

But the underbelly of this country knew his name. Or, at least, part of it. He'd had so many he didn't know which one was the real him anymore, too many punches that caught him in the head and rattled his brain.

They never lasted long though, not once they saw the smile curl across his lips and the empty look in his eyes, not once they realised that the man who stepped into the cage with them fought for nothing more than the pleasure of pain. Locked inside the devil's playground. All that steel. All that danger. Nowhere to run.

He wasn't a sadist. He just thought he was the one good man living in a world of bad people. He just knew that he had nothing to lose — and that made him dangerous.

He didn't lack emotion. In fact, his heart was big… he just had nothing to fill the empty space with. So he took the money and he searched. Maybe for himself, maybe for a reason to stay somewhere, maybe for something more than he could ever hope for.

 _Hope_.

Who was he?

Was he Jon Moxley, the man who had carved a name for himself with blood, sweat, tears, a man who craved the burn of smoke in his lungs, the man who fucked ordinary woman at some shady bar? Was he the man that had to stitch his own nipple back on?

Perhaps he was Dean Ambrose, the man who had fought through hell and back with his brothers? The man who walked the thin line of insanity and eccentricity, the very same man who was stabbed in the back when he thought he'd found a reason to make his life better, the man who ruled the chaotic heart of the city for close to a year before being thrown to the wolves. Was he a hound? Did he fight for justice?

Or was he just Jonathan Good, the kid who had grown up in the wrong end of the block and watched his mother overdose on a dangerous concoction of drugs and alcohol? The kid turned man who had to pull himself away from the edge before he toppled over?

If he was quiet, if he stayed in the shadows, they wouldn't notice him. He wouldn't have to fight to survive like he did currently. If he had something to fight for, maybe he could win against the system, win against the Authority. But he had nothing.

And the Authority had _everything_.

* * *

Somewhere along the long road to which ever town he was headed, smoke began to fizzle under the hood of his truck. It wasn't the first time something had happened to his old girl, probably wouldn't be the last; he pulled off the highway and followed some home-made signs towards a shed that stood out against the dark of the day — _Waters Car Repairs._

The engine chugged and not healthily, and by the time he'd managed to open the hood and inspect the damage he'd never understand, there was a scuffle of feet behind him. Blue eyes gazed over his shoulders, squinting, trying to make out the figure that was shrouded in light.

When he focused, he saw the grease smudged across her left cheek and natural brown hair up in a messy top knot. His eyes trailed across the black crop top, the dark khaki mechanic jumpsuit tied at the arms around her waist.

He wanted to run. Right then and there, he wanted to leave; something about the way watching her twisted his stomach, something about the way her warm brown eyes smiled at him without there being a curve to her lips. His home was his car but he suddenly he needed to be in the cage, slam his fist into a face.

"What can I do for you, stranger?" She asked softly, finally rolling her eyes past his tired figure and onto the beat up truck.

He motioned out, helpless. "Radiators done for, was kinda hoping someone would be able to repair it."

The honey brown in her eyes shone as she picked up a tool box that rested near the entrance, and then she was walking towards him but not even looking at him.

"How old's she?"

"Uh…" he paused, ran a hand across his stubbled chin. "Don't really know. She's getting old, though."

"Can I have a look?"

Move. He should move. He finally managed to put one foot behind the other, backing away from the mechanic and rubbing the back of his neck with a trembling hand. It was cold outside, white breath falling from between his lips as he exhaled. There was some clunking and groaning as she fiddled with a couple of the interior parts and he thought that her fingers were working black magic, swallowed the billowing white smoke like it was vapour.

He watched the taut muscles ripple across her arms, watched the curly brown hair bob on her head as she moved back and forth. She bit her lip and placed her hands on the lid of the car.

"You messed with this before you came, didn't you?"

When she caught the look of guilt in his eyes, the woman nodded and pursed her lips. "You didn't put that radiator fan back in properly, so all this heat that's building up while your car's running can't get out."

Her gaze went right back to the car and she fiddled a bit more, shoving her hands right into the heart and pulling more than a few components of the machine out. "The first thing you do when you want to remove everything is take note of how they reattach, otherwise the hard work you do is gonna come undone."

Grabbing the pieces into her capable arms, she walked back into the repair shop and let the man relax in the overwhelming silence. The sky was too dark to be day but the clock read that it was half one and his stomach rumbled greedily.

There was a cluttering noise, some swearing, and he watched as a shadow passed through the entrance way before she was walking back out again, clutching her arm softly.

"So she can be fixed?" He broke the silence and she finally looked at him again.

"Gotta get her up on the lifts and have a look underneath, but yeah, should be fine."

"How long do you reckon?"

The warehouse parking lot was _empty_ as she looked around, just a solitary, pulled apart car in the corner and a bunch of tools and two tarps lying around. Her brown eyes met his and she shrugged. "A day or two, if I can get the tweaking right and no parts need replacing."

He nodded his head but he was frowning. "And what if some parts need replacing?"

"We'll be pushing two weeks; we're in a small town in the middle of nowhere."

No. That couldn't happen. His eye twitched, lids sliding down, breath puffing around his face as he tried to control his tired emotions.

There was a gentle hand on his arm, the skin calloused but still soft, and the slate blue of his eyes fixated on her warm gaze as she tried to comfort him. "You look like you could do with a few hours sleep. While I check her over properly, why don't you head upstairs and catch some shut eye?"

It was definitely appealing, but how could he trust her?

"There's a bed up there and a bathroom as well if you want to freshen up, and I've got some left over food in the fridge…" The woman trailed off at the anxiety — or was is apprehension? — in his eyes and offered a little smile that was in every sense of the word reassuring. "My name's Meredith Waters. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I can see the shadows under your eyes and I can hear your stomach."

 _Traitorous thing._ His eyes dropped to the floor again and then he moved them to look at the car who had treated him so well for the better part of ten years. It wasn't like he could just leave. He wouldn't walk in this weather ten metres away, and as if the heavens had heard him, thunder crashed down upon them.

The woman — Meredith — flinched and his sturdy hands shot out. But he didn't touch her. Hovering just above her bare shoulder, feeling the radiating warmth, their eyes met again.

"Our little town here has wild storms just before winter rolls in," she provided. A tired grin played at her lips and she looked much wiser in that small movement alone. "I hate storms."

"And yet you stay," his voice was still husky with disuse and deep, but the tone was teasing. Almost.

Meredith lifted a shoulder. "Nowhere much to go anymore, is there?"

She was right.

Floods had ruined most of their cities. In the winters, they turned to ice and the rain became sludge. The ice towns had their advantages, though — where none thought to go, there was a gathering of men and women who had fought for the freedom of their lives and achieved it. They were the walking dead, those who survived but were thought gone.

So what was he doing here, then? Why was he fighting for the enemy?

Because he was still searching.

Those who stayed were ruled by a government that was more a small party of money-hungry power seekers than a government who wanted to better off what country they had left. They called themselves the Authority. Husband, wife, loyal soldiers who fought for them when people wouldn't obey. They owned the cage, owned his job, owned what made him money. They knew everything there was to know about him and they could use it against him if he wanted to leave.

He was inside the shed now, dim lights shining across the desolate work place. Over the side of the area was a car lift, an old Cadillac poised high and mighty, infrared ceiling heaters lining the roof. Understood now was the simple crop top that Meredith was wearing.

"It's nice and warm in here."

When he faced the small woman again, the smile was genuine. "I don't work well in the cold, I get the shakes, so my last worker built up some heaters to put on the ceiling and they haven't stopped going since."

He pursed his lips. "Can't remember the last time it was naturally warm. Can't remember the last time I saw the sun."

"Never get a chance, down here. Maybe once or twice every summer, but the sky is too hazy otherwise."

"God bless this country, right?"

He looked at her again, really looked at her. There was a gentle air around her, something that he hadn't seen for a very long time, and the soft tones of her olive skin didn't have one scar.

Pure. Innocent.

He couldn't stay here for long.

"So you know my name," Meredith teased as she dropped the tool kit, glided her hands along the khaki jumpsuit, met his gaze with a tentative smile. "What do I call you?"

What did she call him? Who was he? Was he Jon Good? Jon Moxley? Dean Ambrose?

That was always where he ended up. No matter where he was, who he was fighting… he never knew who he was. It was a name. But it was also an identity.

She seemed to sense his hesitation. "It's just a word. It doesn't have to define who you are as a person."

Staring deep into her honey brown eyes, hearing her words. Hearing what they meant… he could start over. With her, it was a blank slate. This woman didn't know who he was, or where he'd been, or what he'd done. He could rebuild himself.

So he chose the one that meant something more to him, the one that his only true friend knew him by.

"…Dean. Call me Dean."


	2. Something About This City

It was the smell of cooking eggs that woke him.

He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, just that the covers were good at keeping him warm. Couldn't remember the last time he'd been warm, let alone comfortable.

Slowly, he fumbled the material off of his body, pulled on the only personal belongings he owned apart from his wallet and jacket. The blue jeans barely fit over his thighs, but that was okay. Everything was snug or it wasn't at all and it didn't feel right.

There was a small bathroom opposite the double bed. Plaster peeling from the ceiling, a long crack running down the side of the vanity mirror, shower head hanging from the hook on the wall.

A long shiver ran down the back of his spine when he tried to recall the last time he'd seen his own reflection. When he gazed at himself, looked past the distorted dirt on the glass, he didn't recognise what he saw. Heavy circles under his eyes, stubble that looked more than a couple of days old, tired blue eyes. There was a cut underneath his chin that Abigail had stitched up real well.

His hands tightened around the basin.

They'd find him again. Drag him back. They always found him, always threw him back into the pit, always told him that when they needed his body they'd come get him. And it didn't matter where he went, didn't matter how he tried to hide, they always found him.

He didn't want them to find this place. Didn't want them to lay their filthy eyes on the purity that Meredith was.

His lids slid shut and he could feel the fire beginning to shift under his skin, but it wasn't the right time or place for him to lash out, so instead he fumbled with the shower head and managed to twist it back into position.

The last fight had been with a man called Daniel Bryan. They'd absolutely mauled each other, gone to their limits — Hunter had called it a no contest when they went beyond the rules he'd set in place.

The people hated him. What sold tickets, what sold the fights… that was him. People wanted to see him lose. They _paid_ to see him lose. But he never did.

Dean heard her before he saw her.

She was humming, the tune unmistakeable, even to someone who hadn't heard real music for however long.

When she rounded the corner and smiled at him, it was gone. The sweetness of her tune had for the second put him in a layback chair, staring up at the sky as the sun set. But as soon as he'd gone, he was back.

"How you doing, stranger?" Meredith asked him. She frowned, glanced around his figure. Following her line of sight lead right to the fixed shower head. "You fixed it…"

"I needed to do something with my hands."

Her honey brown eyes then fell to his hands, catalogued all the scars, the cuts, the bruises, and then they were locked on his again.

"What is it that you do, exactly?"

Those eyes weren't warm anymore — she was trying to figure out who she'd let into his house, who she'd let eat his food. Those eyes were calculating. Those eyes were something that sent another shock down his spine.

He couldn't answer her.

"You work for them, don't you?"

The way she said _them_ was accusatory, but she was also gentle. Always gentle, never pushing, she'd told him that he didn't have to explain himself when she'd first let him in, so why had she changed her mind?

This time, Dean lifted a shoulder. "I work for money, not people."

Her arm shot forward and she thrusted the slip of paper at him. "I found this in the car. I thought maybe that you'd been involved, but I didn't know that you were the one in the cage."

His cover was blown. He'd been careless, tired, too trusting. He slate blue eyes seemed to cloud over. "Are you going to call them?"

The way Dean said _them_ … it was a different kind of accusation. She knew what he meant, what the word implied; it was a different _them_. The people who worked against the grain, the people who would kill him if they had a chance.

"No."

Blinking, he frowned. "No?"

"No," she reaffirmed. "There's food downstairs and coffee and it would be a damn shame if some anti-power lunatic came into my home and tried to ruin it."

"Why?" Dean was confused. Any other person would have sold him out, would have fed him to the sharks, but not Meredith. This woman… she was unlike anyone he'd met. Gentle, straight-forward, kind. Smart?

"Because I have a feeling in my gut that's tellin' me I can trust you. And besides, I checked your car over last night— obviously. The flyer advertises the fight for the 26th, but it's the start of the month. And it's down past the last flooded town, which is four days away. You've been on the road, driving, for four days. You need the rest."

Definitely smart.

Dean's eyes stayed locked on hers, blue against brown, light against dark, and he saw something he should have the moment he'd laid his eyes on her; there was no mark on her neck, no 'x' like there was under his left ear. No brand. Nothing. She didn't belong to the Authority, she didn't belong to the Movement. No one knew she existed.

Tension flooded the room like a wave and the woman shifted on her feet, eyes downcast.

"You don't have a brand…" he breathed.

She shook her head. "No. I do. Just not there."

A frown creased his face and when she turned to the side, lifted her shirt, there was a large X spanning across her hip. The hope drained from his body.

"I fix their transport, their cars. This whole town… the Authority own us. We don't get to leave, we don't get to go anywhere unless he lets us."

Hunter. The man whose cravings for power had led him to the very top of the food chain. A lot of people wanted him dead and no one could touch him.

But she glowed… Meredith glowed with innocence, glowed with purity, glowed with a gentle persuasive energy that washed over him like a breeze. They couldn't have done much to her at least, and Dean felt his heart return back to its normal pace.

And because she was open with him, he thought it only right to be open back to her. "They pay me to be a cage fighter, but I don't stick around. So whenever they have a fight for me, they come and find me, doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with, they always manage to track me down, throw me back in the pit. I drive because it's freeing."

She seemed to understand a lot more than just his words. The bags under his eyes, the scars, the cuts, the way he held himself, the way he spoke. _Perceptive_.

Meredith managed to coax him downstairs, away from his own reflection, and when he sunk his teeth into the toast and scrambled eggs and bacon, he's glad she had. The last time he'd had something so good was when he was living with Seth.

The man new how to cook, how to scheme, the technicalities behind every plot. They'd tried to pull him from the wreck of his own life, save him from the Authority, but Seth had been tossed to the sharks and had suffered because of it. They'd mauled him. He'd been given the opportunity to survive. He'd left. And Dean was right back to where he'd started, but had lost two brothers because of it.

And Roman had lost his wife and his life.

The fork in his hand became heavy and he let it drop to the plate, and before he'd even pushed away from the table, there was a soft hand on his shoulder.

He looked up, looked into those honey brown irises, and very quickly his frustration subsided. Meredith was calming, her entire demeanour non-threatening and relaxing. She looked worried, maybe a little scared, but mostly he saw a flash of panic. Was something wrong with him? Was he about to have a fit?

If he was going to, it wasn't happening anymore.

Something about this town, something about this city; it sedated his emotions like Roman had once been able to. Something about this woman made him feel safe.

"I don't know what you've been through before you came here, but understand me, Dean," words like velvet fell from Meredith's mouth as if it were second nature. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

How little she knew. He'd been here for not a full day yet, had not even made use of himself while this beautiful, exotic woman tried to mend his broken car. Was she trying to mend his broken spirit as well? Did she see something in him that needed to be fixed, something that distressed her to such a point?

He dropped his gaze back to the food in front of him. "How long was I asleep for?"

Meredith hummed and he could here the smile that played across her features. "Almost a day."

"Sorry?"

She chuckled a little at his reaction, took a sip of the orange juice in front of her. "You've been up there for almost twenty one hours, Dean. I mean, it shouldn't surprise you since you look like you haven't slept properly for years."

Twenty one hours? Dragging a hand through his fluffy wavy hair, he tangled his fingers through the long locks and sighed. "How about the car?"

"She's all good."

The tone of her voice was stoic yet he could also hear the underlying sadness.

"Is there more to it than that?"

Meredith raised a shoulder, turned her face back to the food she'd cooked for them. Looked around the empty shed. "It's just nice having someone around for a change. The only people who roll through nowadays are those that are going somewhere else, so… I don't really get a lot of human interaction, y'know?"

A small grin spread across his lips. He knew exactly what she meant. "I don't see a lot of people that aren't Authority goons anymore."

"Travelled up to the first river?"

"Once."

This dreamy look danced past her face and once more Dean found himself staring at this beautiful woman who didn't seem to belong to this world. "What's it like? I've only heard the rumours that it's white, and beautifully pristine—"

His snort cut her off. Then his words. "It's ice. Snow. In the winter the people who choose to live there are forced to survive off of scraps and they don't tend to fair too well, but they have these runners, you know? They venture into our world to get food and warmer clothing, gasoline, anything that can start a fire and keep it lit."

"…People can survive in the ice cities?" Meredith's eyes were wide and her voice was tiny, like she'd expected no such thing.

"You find people have incredible strength when they're faced with losing their freedom."

Her body was turned towards him, stomach creasing as she sat half curled in on herself, and she looked completely captivated by the idea that people could survive away from the power and the rule of the Authority. The first river was in many ways considered 'ground zero'. It was the first city that had flooded, the first city that had shown trace of survivors. Hunter, his wife… they weren't shocked to hear it, but every time they sent out their soldiers, they returned empty handed. The people that survived in that city didn't survive the first flood to be tossed back into a powerless life.

There was a time where Hunter had believed that he could torture their location out of him. Where Hunter thought that he had something to lose if he gave them up. It was a time before Seth, before Roman, where he was a lunatic soul that had absolutely nothing. They'd dragged a chainsaw across his head and he'd _laughed_ at them.

"You can stay," she murmured. "If you want, you can stay."

Hair flopped into his eyes as he turned his head to stare at her again, brought back to the current world by the tone in her voice, and then she reached out, rested a hand on his shoulder. "You still look like you could use a couple more days of sleep and I need to give the car a couple of test runs before I'm okay with sending you off. So…stay."

"Yeah…" Dean finally agreed, sending her a thankful smile. "I'd like that."

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 **so heeeey, i know i've only just started this but its different for me to write, so updates will NOT be regular**

 **thank-you to _curbstomped_ for reviewing, im glad you like it! and of course to the followers and favourites, you guys rock just for wanting to read more.**


	3. The Good Kind of Enemy

_location: southwest of the last flooded town_

Seth Rollins stood outside mahogany double doors. He was sweating, but only because it was hot. There was no way he was nervous. No way.

"You okay, boss man?" One of his security details asked lowly.

He didn't know how to answer that. Because he wasn't okay. He missed his brothers, he missed the warmth of their safety, he missed their presence. He couldn't waltz into Hunter's home and demand for the bounty on his brother's head to be forgotten. Roman had lost enough already. He didn't need to give them his life.

Without needing to see him, Seth felt the presence of a demon behind him. If he could see the shadow in colour, it would have been red.

"Mr. Rollins, if you would follow me," the man behind him drawled. "The Game is ready to see you now."

He was going to die. He was actually going to die.

Seth turned and sent the giant a smile that looked more like a grimace. Flanked by his loyal protecters, he followed the suited man down the large marble hallway. He didn't need to look at the walls to see the massive paintings, ones that would have cost thousands of dollars in the old world, he didn't need to look around to see the obvious expense this house must have cost his boss.

His boys were told to wait outside. Kane pushed open the single door to the office and all but shoved him into the room.

There were feminine grunts and moans and Seth raised his eyes and followed the noises until he settled on the shifting bodies that were against the far wall. Hunter. His wife. Once again displaying their undying lust for each other.

He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, shifted on his feet as he tried to figure out how he should react.

It wasn't the first time he'd been brought into this room when they were fucking. And it probably wouldn't be the last time. But it was so incredibly uncomfortable for him every time, and he'd never get used to it.

So he turned to the side. Waited until they finished. Stephanie, his wife, came with a loud scream that had Seth flinching.

He'd never expected that infiltrating their ranks had meant that he'd be almost like a son to them — almost. But here he was, their faith in him, their most prized possession left in his hands.

When Hunter pulled up the zip to his suit pants, finally looked over his shoulder, a smile split across his face. He closed the gap immediately and pulled Seth's stiff body into a hug.

"Seth!" The man exclaimed as he pushed him back, and Seth had to repress a shudder. "It's been too long, old buddy, old pal!"

He had a witty retort, but a year of being under this man's rule had taught him to save it. "How you going, Hunter?"

"It's been a good year, Seth, I want to keep it that way." Hunter walked back around his desk, sat down heavily on the chair, motioned for Seth to join him on the opposite seat. "I've heard word of the return of Roman Reigns."

It was like a shot cracked through his spine. Roman Reigns? Back here? Seth had _known_ that he was still alive, but Hunter didn't. Dean didn't. No one had any idea that the beast had spared him. So for now, he had to feign his surprise.

"Roman Reigns?" He mimicked, shifting forward in his seat. "I thought Lesnar buried him in the ground."

Hunter tried to shrug his indifference, but Seth could see that under his skin, he was _furious_. Roman had lashed out at him tenfold when his wife had been killed in what was supposed to be just a simple punishment.

"So did I, but these days, nothing really surprises me anymore." Hunter looked over at his wife who was finally finished readjusting her clothes and hair. "Stephanie and I have sent out our two best trackers to find him and bring him in, but we doubt that they'll be able to do anything once they finally do find him."

Stephanie stepped forward, pressed her hands onto the wooden desk, snake smile on her dead lips. "We want you to persuade him to come back, Seth, we want his loyalty back and his dedication as well, and you know him better than anyone."

He felt the colour drain from his face. "Why don't you ask Ambrose?"

A vein at the side of Hunter's neck twitched. "If we wanted Ambrose to bring him in, don't you think he'd be here instead of you?"

"You'd have a hell of a lot more chance with Ambrose."

"Seth," her voice was like death, silky and slimy and horrible. "We trust you to do this… don't give us a reason not to, okay?"

In any instance, Dean would have been the easiest option if they wanted to bring Roman back in alive and sane. But there was a reason that Seth was here and not him. Were they finally losing their control over the lunatic? Were they finally realising that apart from owning the metal cage, they had no hold on him?

Dean gave them money and they gave him freedom. Nobody wanted the lunatic locked inside their city, so Hunter gave him the freedom to travel wherever he wanted. And the only reason the lunatic hadn't disappeared off the face of the earth was because he craved the feeling of being hurt and hurting others. And where better to do that than locked inside a cage where it was sanctioned, where better to do that than somewhere that gave him money? He was undefeated. King of the ring. Swimming in cash.

Seth remembered back to the day they told him to betray them. Where Roman and Dean had told him to sell out in order to save himself. He was a strategist, a genius, not a warrior, not a fighter. They gave him the opportunity to save himself and he'd selfishly taken it.

The man and woman in front of him had taken all they could from his brothers. They'd killed Galanti, Roman's wife, they'd separated Dean and Roman by almost killing the latter; the beast may have been just that, but he wasn't as remorseless as he liked to think he was.

And so they were separated now. Three brothers, separated by power, separated by the will to live. Two under the rule of the established order, one fighting against it.

He wished things were different.

"What do you say, Seth, will you help bring Roman back to us?"

It took a very long time for Seth to raise his head and look Hunter in the eye. His face was steel, mouth set in thin line. "I can't promise anything, Hunter, apart from that I'll try."

"Good. Besides," Stephanie smiled, the pull of her lips shark-like. "We've got another fight in line for Ambrose."

Seth felt his skin crawl and not for the first time that night. "You never ask him to do anything more than once every two weeks, though… Don't you need time to sell and promote the fight?"

"Seth, the only people that watch these fights are the people that can afford it," Hunter laughed. "And those are the people that live under me— in this city. We're bringing him back in."

—

 _location: four days north of the last flooded town_

He'd been watching her all morning. Not because he didn't trust her, but because it was refreshing, because he'd not seen anything like her for so long.

The white singlet she was wearing had ridden up her stomach, revealing a pale olive portion of her abdomen. The khaki green jumpsuit again tied at the arms around her waist, messy hair back in a pony tail, brown eyes lit as she messed around with the engine of the car she was working on — the very same one that sat outside, completely torn apart.

It'd been like this for two days now. He slept in the bed upstairs, she slept on the couch downstairs. He felt bad, but at the same time, where she was pure she was also stubborn.

He'd walked down one morning, saw her figure on the couch and noted that the blanket was on the ground. Curled in a ball, hands under her head, Dean gently placed it back over the sleeping form. He knelt beside her, pressed his thumb against his teeth. When he looked up, her honey brown eyes were watching him sleepily. She didn't say a word. Just pulled the blanket tighter around her body and let her eyes close again.

She trusted him. He didn't know why, he'd not shown her anything to trust, but nonetheless she did.

And the last people to trust him had been ripped away from him. His fists clenched at the thought, eyes falling shut as he locked his jaw. The vision of the beast mauling his best friend flashed through his mind before he could stop it and then he was up and walking towards the nearest wall, he needed to get this hurt out of his system by focusing on a different sort of pain.

So he hit the concrete wall, over and over again until Meredith had stood from her position, he'd hit that immovable wall until his hands were bleeding and until she was trying to drag him away, he hit and punched and lashed out as hard and fast as he could before… before Meredith slinked between his body and the wall and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against her chest.

She was hugging him.

Dean could feel the hot breath through his wife beater, could feel the pounding of her heart. Was she scared?

His breathing was laboured and he fell against the wall, using his forearms to brace, to not crush her body, and then he lowered his head on top of hers. The last time he'd been held like this? It was before they'd brainwashed Renee.

The Authority had taken _everything_ away from him. He'd lost it all. He'd lost loves, brothers, friends, what little family he had left; all because they wanted him to make them money.

But to fight them was to fight death. And he'd never be able to do it on his own.

Meredith pulled away from his chest, looked up at him with big brown eyes, her full lips slightly parted. "What just happened, Dean?"

She wrapped a hand around one of his arms, pulled it down to inspect the bloodied fists. When she looked back at him her eyes were clouded with unshed tears. "Dean, please, you're worrying me…"

His face pulled together in a frown. Bottom lip sucked into his mouth. Pondered, for a moment, whether or not to just walk away from this whole situation, this infatuating, magnetic woman who commanded every room she walked into.

"I disappear into my head sometimes," he finally murmured. "And I get so mad, I get so frustrated, so upset, I just need to… to _hit_ something, to forget everything."

She nodded, accepted his answer, and then clung onto him a second time. "There's more ways than breaking your fists to forget your pain."

"It's the only way I know how to cope with it."

There was a sweet silence until she finally dislodged from him, and then Meredith was walking away and towards a room she'd never let him into before. She looked back over her shoulder, eyes inviting, waited until he followed in her footsteps before she pushed into the blackened room.

A click sounded to his left and when his eyes focused in the dark room, the woman who had taken him in was staring apprehensively at the single punching bag that hung from the roof.

"Before my last worker was transferred, he asked for a punching bag from the Authority. He was in their good books for some reason, just a kind, gentle soul, and he wanted to be able to learn how to throw a punch…" Meredith drifted off and her eyes went blank, and he found the pace of his heart quicken when he realised he _hated_ that look. "So he came in here, every day, punched and kicked until he was exhausted." Her eyes darted back to his and then she let a grin form on her lips. "I keep it closed because I don't like the thought of violence being in my home. But if it'll make you feel better, use it. I don't want you busting a fist because you can't find anything to hit."

Dean's heart tugged uncomfortably and he couldn't meet her eyes, could only stare at the hanging bag in the corner, and suddenly he wanted to disappear for a very long time. This woman… she was something else. Something else entirely.


	4. To The Pits

**To The Pits**

 _past— days since the first flood: 489_

"Up against the wall!" The man yelled, pressing the barrel of his gun into his back. " _Head_ _against the wall!"_

He did as he was told. Palms pressed against the cold concrete, forehead between them.

The gun left his back but he stayed where he was. He didn't need to give them a reason to shoot him.

There was a shuffling of feet, more commands. A man was pressed next to him, same position. Another. Four more. By the time the room fell into silence, there were ten heavy breathing paces that filled the room. And if he thought about it for long enough, he knew exactly why they were all there.

"On charges of disorderly conduct, breaking and entering, burglary, assault, manslaughter, and murder; you have all been sentenced to death."

It was a slaughter house.

The voice was heavy with the burden of being the messenger, but it rung loud and clear like the colour red and drawled as if in boredom.

"Ready—"

If these were his last breathing moments, he had nothing to think about. He'd lost everything. Never had a mother or a father. The floods had taken his cousin. He had no happy place, no light of his life.

"Aim—"

He was scrambling to hold onto something, a wild panic in his mind that only he could feel. Against the wall, his hands curled into fists, his forehead creased. But on the backs of his eyelids, he could see a sunset. Swirls of red and orange and pink, burning clouds, burning sky. A sun.

"Fire."

Loud shots rang out in the small space. He couldn't feel any difference — but maybe that was what death was; indifference. Apathy. He waited for the pain, waited to feel his body give away from under him.

The man next to him slumped to his feet, a few more following suit, but there were still laboured breaths that mimicked his own.

"Turn around, arms behind your head."

Again, he did as he was told.

When he glanced to the left of him, there were two other men who hadn't been shot. One with long black hair, Samoan in ethnicity, the other with a bleach blonde streak on the right side of his head.

They glanced back at him with confused eyes.

The man in front of them coughed, gathered their attention, and then thrust his hands inside his suit pockets. His blue eyes were ice. "For some… _unfathomable_ reason… Hunter sees past your nameless, faceless, expendability. You must've done something to please him, all of you. Your second chance starts now. When, and I say _when_ because it _will_ happen, you stuff up… the bullets left in these guns will be for each of your heads."

—

 _present— days since the first flood: 1476_

Meredith had never felt so comfortable with a stranger constantly hovering over her. Yes, it was infinitely weirder and more nerve wracking than when she was by herself, but… it was better than having no one and being completely alone.

He had these slate blue eyes, ones that followed her everywhere she went, ones that made her feel safe and nervous at the same time, and when she looked back at him, found the courage to meet those eyes head on… he never looked away. Like she was offering him relief by just making eye contact.

Sometimes the tension was palpable. Sometimes her fingers would brush against his when she passed him a cup of tea or coffee and her entire body would flush, sometimes she could feel his anger radiate through the room and then he'd look at her and it would just disappear.

The change was welcome. But she had to admit that her wanting him to stay? It was because she liked the mysterious, brooding man who had quite literally just rolled into her life.

When she walked out of her bedroom, boots clunking down the metal stairs, Meredith wasn't surprised to feel his eyes glued to her form. He'd been here for four days now and not once seen her in clothes that she kept for non-working purposes.

The dark blue skinny jeans, the oversized grey cotton sweater, the winter boots on her feet… he had to know that she was leaving.

She looked up, sent him a little smile. "I'm going to go get some more supplies. I need more food and some more water…" Trailing off, she saw a flash worry in his eyes. "Unless you want me to stay."

Dean stayed quiet for a long second before he looked away. "It's okay, you can go."

Meredith shook her head, grinned softly again as she ducked to catch his gaze. "You can come with me, if you want?"

The way Dean looked at her was the way he almost always did — a mix between confusion, appreciation, admiration… like she was one of the first people that had ever shown him what kindness looked like.

Then, he nodded, stood from his seat at the bench and pushed his arms through the leather jacket that was hanging on the hood of his car. "How far away is it?"

Well… Meredith dropped her eyes to the ground a sent him a sheepish smile, rubbed the back of her neck as she threw the other one onto her hip. How would she explain this one? When she looked back up at Dean, his gaze was watching her expectantly, crease between his eyebrows.

"You might want to leave the jacket off," she murmured through a grin.

He sent her a dubious look, utterly confused. "It's freezing out there, I think I want to leave the jacket on."

"We're not going outside."

"What?"

She couldn't really find the words to explain just exactly what was about to happen, but instead looped her fingers through his and tugged him towards the car that was outside, and _fuck_ was it chilly when he stepped through the threshold.

Meredith didn't give him time to react to their interlocked hands because the second she tugged the car door open and motioned for him to look past the seat, wooden stairs that descended into the darkness of nothing became his focus.

"What the hell…?" Dean trailed off. He looked so confused, so intrigued, so young in that simple moment, and when he lifted his eyes to look at her smug smile, he tried to fight his grin. _Tried_.

"It's been here for a long time and I've used it as long as I've been here," Meredith let out a little chuckle. "They wouldn't give me a car so a couple of the guys in town told me about some tunnels and helped me build some stairs… It leads right to the refuge centre, Town Hall, where they give out our food shares."

He paused and looked back down into the darkness. "You walk into town in that thing?"

Meredith shrugged and another smile fell across her lips. He was really struggling to understand this, but it was better for him to know than for him to get lost looking for her. "It's not so bad, I guess. Once you get used to it."

—

He'd never known of a place like this. Central, or where Hunter and his wife ruled the biggest city left (or what was left of Vegas), was _nothing_ like this little town. Central functioned like any major city would have if the floods hadn't hit, functioned just fine with electricity and running water and cars and general trade… but this place? There was all kinds of food lined up on a large table, a buffet of sorts, where the people would buy whatever they wanted. It was like a supermarket, only… not.

"The only days we have trading are Wednesdays and Saturdays," Meredith was saying as they pushed through the milling crowd. "It's not just money, either — you can trade food for food, clothes for food, money for food… anything, really, as long as it has some kind of worth."

But he was astounded, looking around with wide eyes and hands stuffed into his leather jacket, fists clenched tight. And then he was grinning. "This is amazing…"

Meredith laughed at him and raised a shoulder. "We do what we can. The Authority don't really come through this part of town a lot, only if they're searching for someone or they need a decent repair done on one of their cars."

She gave him a few empty bags, some coins, sent him on his way and followed with an amused gaze as he tried to figure out what to get for the both of them to eat. It was hot, almost oppressive in nature, but her presence gave him a freshness that he could work with.

Not thirty minutes later, she pulled him away with a gentle grin and tangled her fingers back through his, tugged him towards the exit of the of marketplace.

When they emerged from the tunnels, Meredith stopped short. He almost ran into the back of her, almost toppled her over onto the cold floor, but halted just long enough to see her sudden change.

There were two black SUVs parked outside of her workshop. And the only people who owned big SUVs like the ones in front of them nowadays were the Authority.

"Dean…" she breathed, her delicate features pulling into a frown.

"Go."

She turned, looked at him, already shaking her head, but he wouldn't let her. He left the bags in the pit of the empty car, laid his heavy hands along her cheeks, caressed the soft skin. "Go, I'll tell them that I went out looking for you and couldn't find you, okay? I'll tell them that we're waiting for a part for my car to come in, but you _have_ to go, alright?"

"Dean—"

" _Go_."

Meredith looked at him with torn eyes. She looked at him like it was the last time she was going to see him, gazed at him with a frown and pursed lips, and Dean couldn't stop himself when he ducked forwards and pressed his lips against hers. Softly. So soft, barely there, but she still tangled a hand in his top and pushed back.

When he pulled away from her, there were tears streaming. He kissed her again, wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, could taste the salt of her tears as they moved between their joined lips.

For the last time he pulled away, pressed his lips to the crown of her head, and turned away completely.

Walking away from her was torturous. Like hell on earth.

He'd known her, been here, just four days, and he felt like their connection was beyond words, beyond anything he could comprehend.

But he knew why the Authority was here. And it wasn't for her — it was for him. Back to the pits.

He sauntered through the metal doors, not even pausing once as he took in the form of a slimy man with snake-like eyes and a bushy bearded man with a beady gaze. Orton. Harper.

Sniffing, he stuffed his arms into his jacket pockets.

"So nice of you to finally join us," came a voice from behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know that the voice belonged to a giant of a man. "Beginning to worry she'd kidnapped you or something, Dean."

"No such luck," he deadpanned.

"Where is she?"

"Dunno, was out there looking for her."

"Not like Meredith to up and leave without a valid reason."

He turned his slate blue eyes to stare impassively at tattooed man. "If I knew where she was, don't you think I'd have my car fixed by now?"

"By the state of the dishes in the sink," Orton drawled, "the blanket on the couch… the repaired bathroom… have you been playing house, Ambrose?"

Dean's skin _crawled_. The tattooed viper had been here before, had seen her bathroom, knew her name. But he had to show that he didn't care. He didn't. "Problem, Orton? I mean, I knew you were lonely, but I didn't know you were _that_ lonely. Should go back to Vegas, get laid or somethin'."

Orton hissed at him. He lowered his face, sent back a deadly smirk. Push… shove.

"We're going, you have a fight to get ready for," Harper called out, wild eyes latching onto the giant who was standing behind him.

"My car doesn't work yet."

"Ride with me," the giant boomed, and Dean sent a look over his shoulder at Show. "If you keep your mouth shut, we'll have no problems.


	5. Our Ice City

**Our Ice City**

 _past— days since the first flood; 978_

"I'm sick of it," the Samoan seethed, face twisted with anger. "They think they can beat us to a pulp? Without consequences? Do these dumbasses _know_ what we're capable of?"

The two toned man in the corner looked up from his handiwork, eyes hard, mouth in a thin line. "We can't afford to think like that, Ro. You know what they'll do if they realise we're not loyal to them anymore."

"I won't just sit back and let them—"

Dean pushed away from Seth's soothing touch. There was a medical gauze against the bottom of his chin where it had split open and his scraped hands moved past Seth's to hold it as he stood. "Roman, they'll _kill_ Galanti if you give them any reason to doubt you."

At that, Roman stopped. His eyebrows pulled together and his hand dragged down his face. "I know."

"So don't give them a reason to doubt you."

"Dean—"

The man shook his head, walked towards his brother. Dean looked grave but his voice was strong. "No, Ro, you have _no_ idea how paranoid they can be."

"I remember what happened to Renee, Dean," Roman said softly. The Samoan ran his hands through his hair and yelled loudly, then dropped his head back onto the wall he was sitting against. "Fuck this, man, fucking— I need a damn drink."

The black clad trio were all in agreement with that statement.

—  
 _present— days since the first flood; 1476  
_ _location: the ice city_

Roman had never been one for moving around. He appreciated stability, he appreciated safety, he appreciated the familiarity of a home. Or somewhere to call a home.

The first flooded city was a home to him. The town was massive, used to be home to hundreds of thousands of people, but now? Now he was lucky to see someone else on the street in the space of a week.

He needed to stay out of sight and stay away from the patrolled areas, because even in the ruins there was a very real danger.

The Authority's rule reached long and reached far and he'd felt the full effects of that force. Once, when he'd worked for these people, they'd given him everything he could have ever wanted. And when he'd retaliated because of a simple punishment, they'd taken everything he'd loved.

Which had included his wife, Galanti.

His only love, his only reason to fight.

Dean had managed to find a way to get him out, to get him back to the ruins on time before he could do something insanely stupid. Like slaughter eleven more people.

He shuddered at the memory, drew a hand down his face. Images of twisted faces and screams and _blood_ swam through his mind, and he'd mercilessly killed all of them. Every single one. And maybe that was what it was like to live a life filled with regret, to have the memory constantly pressing on his conscience and his soul.

Did he regret it though? Ultimately, wasn't he saving other people?

Should killing people who had done wrong in their lives be met with regret or a sense of duty? Was he a warrior in a war? Were deaths in this kind of fight for survival valid? Were they casualties?

"You're not thinking about them again, are you?"

He started at the feminine voice and glanced up at the half-Mexican Bella. The _only_ Bella left. "Brie…"

She gave him a gentle smile. "How're you going, big man?"

Roman's shoulders lifted in what resembled a shrug, his eyes sliding shut against the blinding light of the morning. "Can think of a million things that would make this ice city better, baby girl."

"Ice city," Brie mimicked, sliding onto the ground next to him, "that's a word to describe it."

"I just— I don't know what they're doing," he breathed, "or where they are. Or whether they're safe."

The Bella looked at him. And really looked. His eyes were sunken and distant and in his mind he was anywhere but where he was sitting. He was with the only family he had left. "You know, I don't really know them. I've never met Seth, and Dean and I… we were never really close or friends. But I know that Daniel… Daniel thought they were good guys, that they were clever. And if they're clever in this kind of world then they'll be safe."

Silence filled the space between them and Roman stiffened when the small woman curled against his arm.

"Do you think of them?" She said. "Of what they would have been doing if they were still with us?"

Roman stared across at the snow, the frosted lake. He wasn't the only one that had lost someone. In this world, every person had lost someone; you were lucky if you'd only lost one. The woman next to him had lost more than he could fathom. Her sister. Her husband. Her baby.

He couldn't answer her question. Because if Galanti were alive, he'd probably still be working for the same people that had killed her.

"I like to think that Nikki's watching over me," Brie murmured. "That she's window shopping or something. And that Daniel is looking after our little one, showing her what madre's doing. And maybe that Galanti is watching over you."

He had no idea how she could be so calm.

—  
 _location: southwest of the last flooded town_

The cell was dark. It was something that he was used to, something that kept him calm. The cell door was open but he still stood inside like it was keeping him there. The memories he had of this cell kept him grounded and kept his head in the game. Chills cascaded across his bare chest and he punched the air, twisting his hips as he lashed out. He fell against the brick wall and pressed himself back in a makeshift pushup.

Fists taped, belt keeping his jeans up, feet bare. He was here to fight. And he wasn't here to lose.

In the cage, there was nothing. Nothing but flesh hitting flesh, bones breaking, losing himself in the moment until the bell rang and he was back in reality. The white tape would be covered in blood and he'd be battered and bruised but he'd get out and find a car and find his way back to the woman who was giving him more than one reason to fight.

"It's time."

The voice came out of the darkness and Dean recognised it but refused to look at the red man. And then he was being led out of the cell, interlocking his fingers and rolling his wrists, slate eyes staring through barely open lids, the sound of screaming voices beginning to meet his ears.

" _And introducing; the man with the largest win record, the longest reigning Cage Champion, the Authority's secret weapon—_ "

He was no such thing, but the announcer whose name he barely remembered, Lilian, introduced him as such.

When he looked between the mesh cage, past the flashing lights and the excited crowd, he zeroed in on the person standing in the centre already waiting for him.

So… _this_ was who he was going to be fighting.

His skin shifted on its own accord, lips pulling back over his teeth as he stared at the pale Irish man in front of him, and for the longest moment Dean could feel himself succumbing to the blackness that used to have a death grip on his heart. _Not anymore_. Tonight, he'd use what that darkness had taught him. Tonight? Tonight he would _enjoy_ putting the brute of a man back in his place.

Oh, they wouldn't fight to the death, but when Dean was done, Sheamus will wish that he'd have killed him.

—

 _location: four days north of the last flooded town._

Meredith stayed out of her shed for the better part of the day. She didn't trust herself to go back, didn't trust that the Authority would be gone, but she needed to get back, needed to do something with her hands to try and erase the feeling of Dean's lips on hers.

She traced her fingers over her lips and looked up at the dark sky, her lids sliding shut.

Who was this man? And why was she entranced? Why did he have this hold on her like he'd known her forever?

Dean was like no one that she'd met before. He was quiet yet spoke what was on his mind, he was soft yet carried his ragged edges with caution, he was strong but weak, a walking contradiction. And the way that he looked at her like she was the first person that had shown him true kindness sent chills right down her spine.

And _God_ , was he attractive. The strength in his shoulders and chest and how they slimed down into nothing, the thin line of his waist, the curve of his ass and his thighs. The blue of his haunting eyes. The dimples. The floppy, messy, curly dirty blonde hair.

The way he'd grabbed her face softly but still with force and pushed his lips against hers, not once but twice.

And already Meredith missed his presence. Like seeing the sun after an endless night. Feeling safe after years of being vulnerable.

Meredith was walking before she could stop herself, desperately wanting for him to be sitting on her couch and waiting for her, pulling a face about why she'd been out for so long, but when she flicked the lights on inside the shed, it was empty.

There were no cars out the front. There were no men inside. It was Meredith and Meredith alone.

Her heart sank heavy into her stomach.

* * *

 **sorry about the wait, things have been more than crazy! thank you to my reviewers, much love x**


	6. For You

**For You  
** _location: southwest of the last flooded town_

Everything was moving, all the people and their noise, the lights as they swam, his own feet, his brain. Dean couldn't find anything to stabilise him and he stumbled back until there was metal against his skin.

There was warm blood spilling down his face from a busted cheek and his shoulder had popped out of its socket and his left eye was swollen shut already, but it was over. The pale Irish man was on the floor in a mess of skin and bone. He'd failed to get up by the ten count, and that meant Dean had won.

He tried to see out of his good eye, searching for the exit, and across the way he could feel the penetrating gaze of the man who had thrown him in here in the first place. Hunter Hearst Helmsley who was not twenty feet away had the grin of the devil on his face.

Their stares were unmatched, slate blue in his almost challenging his boss', glaring as hard as he could. Dean wanted to yell, to scream ' _is this what you wanted?!_ ' but he knew that nothing would come of it.

There was a gentle hand against his shoulder and when he found the will to look down, the careful eyes of Sister Abigail stared back at him.

She was their only doctor in this town and she was by far the best when it came to both herbal medicines and synthetic medicines. But with all the talent she had, she was barely shown to the world. The Authority had a very tight grasp on her. So did her family.

Dean followed her from the cage, more of a hobble than a walk, and groaned loudly as he slammed his fist against his shoulder. His damn shoulder was hurting so much that black spots were clouding the remainder of his vision and he _had_ to fix it, he just had to.

"Stop that," Abigail hissed at him, throwing an ice blue glance over her shoulder to glare at him.

But he chewed on his bottom lip and swallowed the bile crawling up his throat, threw himself against the cold concrete wall. The pain was horrible, cascading down his arm and finishing with a slight tingling at his fingers, his shoulder screaming.

Abigail turned around and yelled his name but Dean wouldn't listen, was too busy paying attention to his shoulder and pushing it back up and in that he didn't even so much as glance in her direction. But he should have. Searing pain flared out across his chest and he couldn't hold the scream in or stop his body from shaking, he couldn't control the buckle of his knees as he fell to his feet.

Dean's face contorted in pain and on the cold ground his body spasmed as the electrical surges shot through him. She'd _tasered_ him.

His body wanted to stay down against the ground and he tensed his muscles, but with the barbs still paralysing him, there was no use. So much pain coursed through him that he couldn't understand what was happening, only that he felt like the living dead.

And then nothing.

—

When Dean woke, he was almost human. There were a cluster of damp herbs thrown over his left eye socket and tape across his shoulder, could feel the pul of stitches just under the swollen eye. A cold slab was at his back and he looked around wearily.

"You didn't need to taser me." His voice reached out, but it was gruff, quiet, his throat scratching.

Abigail looked up from the book perched on her lap. "Dean, you were acting like a child trying to pop your shoulder back in—"

"To stop the pain." Dean chuckled humourlessly and threw his head back against the pillow. "And you fuckin' tasered me, you bitch."

"There's a bottle of pain killers on the table behind you and a bottle of water. Rollins was kind enough to drop in earlier with another set of car keys."

 _Rollins_. Ah, he was still alive. His lips curved up. That was good news, at least.

"So you can be quiet and rest for a few more hours or leave."

Dean could feel the unspoken cusses being thrown at him, _get the fuck out of my clinic, you fuck_ , but she was Sister Abigail Wyatt. And she would _never_ do such a thing.

Shifting weight onto his good arm, Dean pushed up into a seated position with a groan and rolled his head forward, resting his chin against his chest, trying to catalogue how many parts of him were sore. His head was the worst by far, but his shoulder wasn't far behind. Neither was his knee. And really, his whole body ached.

He glanced across at the local miracle worker who was watching him intently. "Do you have anymore of that Valerian root shit? Or Ginseng?"

Abigail rolled her eyes and raised from the chair, walking across to one of the naturalistic looking cabinets that were against the far wall. She pulled out a couple of broken roots, then a vial of what looked like light brown dirt.

He'd been here enough times to know how to use both of them.

Pushing onto his feet with a soft grunt, Dean stretched out a stiff muscle in his back before grabbing the shirt on the bench behind him, throwing it over his head as well as he could with the strapped shoulder. Next was his leather jacket, the pockets of which he shoved the car keys inside as well as the bagged Ginseng and the powdered Valerian Root.

In minutes he was out in the hall, feet carrying him away from the doctor and her assigned clinical room. Knew exactly where he was going.

He refused to say home. Because that wasn't true, not yet, anyway.

But this woman, Meredith… she felt like the closest thing he had to it.

The car was easy enough to locate, but the drive was long, four days of nothing but the road. It had calmed him, two weeks ago, to be behind the wheel. What had calmed him more after that was being in Meredith's presence.

And so he drove. Drove until the grey of the road blended into the day and the nights burned his eyes. Drove back to the one place he wanted to be.

—

 _four days later_

 _location: four days north of the last flooded city_

It had been almost a week and a half. She didn't know whether she expected him to come back or not.

Yet when he walked through that door, when his slate blue eyes locked on hers, this sense of relief and utter happiness coursed through her veins. Showed on her face, too.

Around the cut under his left eye, the skin was discoloured, black and blue and yellow, and his shoulder was heavily strapped. But he still stood there. Leather jacket, dark jeans, black top. The same man that had kissed her, living and breathing the same air that she was breathing.

"Dean…" it was almost like a whisper but it was there, and the hesitant grin that formed across his lips was enough for Meredith.

The first step forward was strong, the second more so, but the closer she got, the more anxious she became. Would he let her hug him? Would he be okay with that? So instead, she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and glanced over her shoulder.

"I, uh," she was louder this time, so he could hear her properly, "I cooked some lasagna a few nights ago. I—I didn't know… when you'd be back. But I hoped… I, uh— I saved some. For you."

When she finally lifted her dark eyes to glance sheepishly at him, the smile on his lips hadn't moved. He let the bag drop from his good shoulder. And then met her halfway when she finally sprinted at him, throwing her arms around his neck as his slipped around her waist.

Meredith's fingers tangled through his hair and she felt his sigh against her neck, felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. They hadn't known each other long, maybe four days at most, but being here, being in his arms?

It felt like home. Safety.

—

Meredith knew he was awake before she heard him. His coughs were quiet as the night they were surrounded by, but her ears picked up the foreign noise like it was akin to someone trying to steal one of her cars.

For a while, she laid still on the couch. Her arm behind her head, leg hanging off the cushion.

The space above her head glowed with soft red radiance, roof heaters working full blast to try and keep the large space at least a little warm.

When a different kind of light came on, Meredith knew that Dean couldn't sleep, that he was probably in pain. She heard his feet padding down the stairs and let her eyes slide shut. He came closer, stopped, shuffled again.

Peeling a lid open, Meredith met the slate blue of his eyes as he watched her. "My shoulders killin' me," he murmured as quietly as he could. "I didn't want to wake you, but…"

She smiled at him. "It's okay. I couldn't sleep, anyway."

"I, ugh…" out of his pocket came two different things; the first she recognised as ginseng, the other a vial of dirt. "These help a lot with the pain and headaches. I can make a tea out of both of them and be out like a light for a day…"

A kettle. And mugs, probably; that was what he was after without even asking for it.

Meredith was quick to retrieve them in the makeshift kitchen she had, setting the kettle on the stovetop and cleaning out her used coffee mugs. She watched him as he threw the dirt into one cup and the ginseng into the other. Watched as he poured steaming hot water over them.

As he looked up at her, she realised she'd been staring — but for once, she didn't look away. "What's the dirt?" She asked.

"Valerian root," Dean answered with a small grin. "Good with helping to ease muscle and joint pain, acts as a sedative."

She nodded in understanding, offered him a smile. "You don't take pain killers? I know they still manufacture them down your way—"

"I don't do synthetic medicine."

It was final. Meredith knew enough not to overstep the boundaries, so instead she went to work making herself some green tea.

Dean didn't speak for a long time, chose to sip at the cup of dissolved Valerian root. Stared at one of the pictures she had resting on the counter, one of her and her parents, one where she was smiling and happy with the sun shining on her face.

But finally he reached out again. "Were you hit by the floods?"

"Everyone was hit by the floods."

Dean pursed his lips at that, nodded his head as he turned his face back down to the steaming cup of tea. "I was at a bar in Vegas with a couple of my friends. The only one to get out, too."

"I was asleep," she shared, "dead to the world. Didn't realise what had happened until I looked out the window when I woke up and the river was halfway up the side of the house."

She could remember it well, the sound of her parents screaming, the dog barking. Fiddled with her top as she thought of all the friends she'd lost, wondered whether her parents still breathed this stale air, where they were if they _were_ still alive.

Looking up at him, Meredith flashed a quick grin. "I was working part time at this car repair place and they _really_ sang my praises. I turned up one day after the floods had receded and everything was just… destroyed. Cars, our machines. Part of me was happy cause it was gone, because maybe I could use my other talents."

"Other talents?" Dean almost laughed, but Meredith shot him a look that had the noise dead in his mouth. "Well… what did you _want_ to do?"

She sighed then, leant back on the chair. "You mean apart from being a mechanic?" Meredith replied, tilting her head with a small grin dancing across her lips. Then she shrugged. "I always wanted to sing."

Dean's smile began to match hers. "Sing?"

"Yeah," she laughed, "professionally. I wanted to write songs, travel the world."

"Was always afraid of planes," he mused, more to himself then anything, really, but Meredith still heard it, still let out a laugh. He glanced across at her with a serious glint in his eyes. "Literally a metal flying contraption of death. And you can't convince me otherwise."

She laughed, shrugged her shoulders. "I dunno, escalators are pretty scary if you're talking about metal contraptions of death."

"You'll be glad to know they're all gone, then," he chuckled, "only travelators in the towns I've been through."

They settled into a comfortable silence, and not for the first time, Meredith thanked whatever gods were still alive that had turned him to her. His quiet yet addictive nature, his smile, his laugh… Meredith felt content.

Glancing over at him, she stilled. Dean's slate blue gaze was soft, his lips slightly curled as he leant over the mug, and he dropped his eyes for a second before lifting them again to her features. She let her eyes trail to his lips, remembered the way they felt pressed against hers, remembered how he felt holding her. She wasn't afraid to admit that she wanted to feel that again. And with the way he was watching her? Maybe he wouldn't be opposed to feeling it again.

* * *

 **thankyou to _Nangel4_ and _Hollarious969_ , hope you and the other readers enjoy this update :) x**


	7. All Alone

**All Alone**

 _location: the ice city_

Seth had never expected things to go this far. He'd never wanted to be one of Hunter's most trusted men, had never bargained for that to even be a possibility. He prided himself on being one step ahead of everyone… what a joke.

He'd been out in this wasteland for days and still had no idea where he was going or why he was helping the enemy.

But the thought of possibly seeing Roman again put a large smile on his face. He missed his brother, missed the strength in his bones and the crooked nose on his face, missed the sound of his deep voice.

The streets were slick with ice and buildings covered in snow, the sky greyer and darker than it had been the day before. Tall buildings stood against the light grey like charcoal. Seth couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. Well, no, he imagined it would have been before the floods had hit their country. But the ground was always white with snow or black with darkness and everything about his reality was now monochrome.

Seth dragged a hand through his hair, down across his chin as he sighed, spinning in the middle of the street as he tried to at least find some sort of life.

There was a click behind him.

And when he turned, the cold barrel of a gun was pressed against his head.

"If you even think about doing something stupid, I'll lodge a bullet between your eyes."

The woman standing in front of him was short, dark brown hair falling over her shoulder in waves. A piece of red material was tied around her head to keep the hair off her face, blue jeans barely covering the winged tattoos that sat between her hips. Seth recognised her briefly, could picture her standing next to a man with a long dirty blonde beard. And then her name sat at the tip of his tongue.

He'd watched Stephanie kill her sister.

"Brie Bella," he said softly. "It's been a long time."

The woman glanced over his shoulder and then over hers, tilted her head to the left when she was satisfied. "Walk."

Together, with the gun still pressed against his head, Brie and Seth made their way towards a building with an arch for an entrance. As soon as the doors were shut behind him, the gun was gone and her arms were around his shoulders.

"I didn't know when I was going to see you again," she breathed against his shoulder.

Seth laughed into her hair and wrapped his arms tight around her waist. Of all people, he didn't expect to see Brie Bella still kicking. He'd honestly thought that she would have given in a long time ago, but when he pulled back and stared at the woman, the strength in her eyes told him that he was dead wrong.

"God, you haven't changed," Seth said as he held her face between his hands. "It's good to see you, Brie."

The woman smiled at him, wrapped her hands around his arm and began to drag him towards a staircase that descended into darkness.

"You weren't followed?"

"Not that I know of."

"Even if you were, Roman told me that you were working both sides. So I had to make it look believable if they were watching you."

She was smart, Seth had to hand it to her. But then he paused. "Roman?"

Brie looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

Hopping down the stairs a couple at a time, Brie pushed forwards to drive her shoulder into a metal door, flinging the thing backwards. He followed her footsteps as well as he could, marching through a black tunnel after her.

"It's fuckin' dark down here," Seth murmured quietly.

Brie laughed. "You get used to it, I promise."

No sooner had she said those words than a light flowed into the tunnel. Brie walked towards it and called out 'all good!' quickly, and when Seth passed the threshold and stood in the light, he was stunned.

He wasn't stupid or deaf. He'd heard the rumours of the ice city, of a place so blindingly white that it was almost overwhelming. But what he hadn't heard of was the presence of people. They weren't milling around and there weren't a lot, but to the left of him was a man with a gun, to the right a woman with a dagger.

"C'mon," Brie said softly. "I know where he is."

Again she led the way, stepping carefully over the snow and what looked to be broken glass. They headed towards what looked like a tunnel that had been sliced in half and then his eyes focused on the large Samoan who had his head dropped back against the bricks.

 _Roman fucking Reigns._

Brie called out his name and when the pale eyes slid open and locked on Seth, the smile that spread across his face was infectious. The two-toned man launched at Roman, pulling him into a hug so bone-crushingly hard that he couldn't breathe for a second.

"Seth," Roman laughed. "Fuck, man, didn't think I would see you anytime soon!"

"Good to see you, brother."

Roman wrapped his large hands around Seth's head and dropped a kiss against his hair. "You, too."

Brie sent a smile in Roman's direction and excused herself from the moment, walking back the way she came.

But unfortunately, Seth wasn't here for a catch up. He stood back from Roman and ran a hand through his hair. "We have a problem."

Immediately, Roman's eyes darkened. "Dean?"

"No, no, Dean's fine," Seth reassured the big man. "Last I heard he was driving up to some small town with a mechanic in it."

"A mechanic?"

Seth frowned as he watched Roman's face pinch in interest. "Yeah…"

"Waters Car Repairs?"

"How'd you know that?" He asked incredulously.

But the smile that spread on Roman's face was glowing. "My cousins run the town there, man. He's good. He's safe."

"Yeah, well, you're _not_."

Roman frowned then. "What do you mean I'm not?"

"Hunter got word that you were still alive. That's why I'm here, he sent me to bring you in," Rollins explained. "I can't stay long, but we need to figure something out so that they don't find you."

"You have something in mind?"

Seth's smirk told Roman everything he needed to know. "I always have somethin' in mind, Ro."

—

Almost an hour later saw Seth heading back to the entrance of the city. He'd bid goodbye to his brother, his best friend. Hopefully their plan would work. And if it did, they'd have absolutely no reason to panic. But if Roman's part went wrong? They would _all_ lose. And Roman would more than likely lose his life.

Their history was tangled. At some point in time, each of them had worked for the Authority. He'd worked with Dean Ambrose, Roman Reigns. They had called themselves a shield, something to stop injustices from reaching the lives of Hunter and Stephanie. And at first, they were just, their rule was kind. But power got to them. Stephanie craved control of _everything_. And Hunter gave it to her.

Brie and Nikki Bella were the twin sisters that caused more trouble than they did good. Simply, their job was to run a local grocery and a fitness centre as soon as the floods had receded. But Nikki Bella was in love with a man that had tried to throw the Authority out of power. And so to retaliate against him, Stephanie slit her throat.

Seth shuddered as the memory tore through him, her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling, open mouth gaping.

Brie's husband had thrown her out of the city as soon as he got the chance to. Because she was in just as much danger as her sister if she stayed — he was one that fought against the system as well.

He'd heard the story of her husband's death reaching her ears, the way she screamed herself to sleep and wouldn't come out of her room for days.

Dean had… he'd been the one to kill Bryan. Forced to, by Stephanie and Hunter. He and the Samoan had stood back and watched in frustration as the dirty blonde was elected to kill one of his only friends, a friend that he'd had since before the floods. Seth had noted that his eyes were empty for a long time after that.

For a long time, the three men had worked in tandem for the Authority. When it became too much, when they disobeyed by attacking Stephanie's bodyguard, they had killed Dean's fling. Seth remembered her name as Renee, but nothing else. There had been a switch inside of him that just… turned off. He only cared about fist on flesh and his brothers after that.

Galanti had been next. When Roman had punched Hunter, Hunter had snapped Galanti's neck. It had almost been a year and the Samoan still wasn't over it.

Which had left Seth. Seth, who had no connections to anyone. Seth, who had no loves and no cares in the world except his two brothers. Seth, who had the least to lose. There was no one left that he loved that they could take from him.

Seth knew he was being followed as soon as the scuff of a shoe he didn't recognise as his met his ears. He knew he stood out like night in the middle of the day, his black tactical boots and pants contrasting the light grey snow on the road. He clenched his gloved hands. There was only one man that could track him down like this. "You followin' me, Orton?"

The viper behind him chuckled. "You caught me."

"Don't underestimate an architect," Seth said slowly as he glanced over his shoulder, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Why are you here?"

But Randy Orton dodged his question. "Was that Brie Bella I saw, earlier?"

The two-toned man's heart lurched into his throat, ran his tongue over his lip nervously. "Yeah, it was."

"Why didn't you slap the gun out of her pretty little hands then, Rollins?" Randy questioned him. He could hear the smirk in the viper's voice. "Thin as a twig, you'd have her down in seconds."

"Too pretty to break," Seth said calmly. "The more she trusts me, the more likely it is I'll get information out of her in regards to Roman Reigns." He paused and gazed over his shoulder again. "Wouldn't expect you to understand that, though, Orton, you can't think past your anger or your dick when it comes to pretty ladies."

Instead of reacting harshly, Randy clapped him on the back and smirked, nodding. "You got a point, Rollins. You're out here looking for Reigns, then?"

"Did Hunter not send you to help bring him in?"

"He just told me to keep an eye on you, had no idea that Roman Reigns was involved," Randy laughed, shook his head. "Fuck, I didn't even know he was alive."

Seth raised a shoulder and cautiously stepped away from the chiseled man. "Apparently alive and kicking."

Hunter had sent him? This wasn't good. It meant that the Authority leader didn't trust him enough to get the job done by himself. He needed to pick his game up and give it a good polish, because neither Hunter or Stephanie would hesitate in the decision to kill him and he didn't feel like dying any time soon.

"Go figure." Orton looked down at Seth and a smirk fell across his lips. "Speaking of alive and kicking, Dean Ambrose has a play thing. Gone back to her for a second time. He must be losing his mind if he thinks that Hunter will let 'im keep her."

For the second time, Seth felt his heart lurch into his throat.

He hoped to God that Dean knew what he was doing.

* * *

 **thank-you to _Seth rollins babe_ and _Nangel4_ for their lovely words :) xx **

**also, i should mention that i know it's Galina and not Galanti, but i felt rude killing her off so i changed her name a little...**


	8. There is No Sun

_location: the ice city_

Roman felt like life was finally surging into his muscles, into his bones. He felt like he had a new purpose. Dean, his best friend, his brother, was with his cousins. The same cousins who he'd grown up with and loved like they were his own brothers.

He tugged the leather jacket on over his shoulders, pulled his hair back into a bun so it would stay out of his face.

"You off, then?"

Brie's voice didn't really shock him. She constantly managed to gravitate back to him and keep him company, and Roman didn't mind one bit. "Need to go see a couple of people."

She smiled gently at him and held her silver gun out. "Wanna take it?"

"No," Roman laughed, "not those kind of people."

He pulled the woman into a hug and dropped a kiss onto her head. "See you soon, Brie."

"See ya," she breathed back.

Roman pushed away from the building Seth had walked from not hours before and lifted a hood up and over his head to try and conceal at least part of his identity. The Samoan found himself smiling. First Seth, then Dean. This day felt like the sun had warmed his soul from the outside in, but at the same time, it struck anxiety into his heart.

Someone had told Hunter Helmsley that he was still alive. The beast, the man who was brought in from a different country, was paid millions to kill him. But he hadn't died. And maybe because of that he owed the beast his life.

 _Dean_. His brother. _He was alive_. Roman was risking his life to get this message to him. But he had to tell him, had to give his brother some sign of life that he was still okay and kicking. Because the last time that he had seen Dean? _Almost a year ago._ When the man had saved him from the Authority.

Did Dean know that he was still alive?

Roman would be walking for days to get to his cousins, but it would be worth it. He needed to get this message to him.

—  
 _location: four days north of Vegas_

He didn't know what day it was. Sunday? Friday? He didn't know what the time was, whether it was night or morning because leading into winter, it was always dark. God, spending time with this woman took every concept of time away from him. He slept, he woke, he ate the food she cooked him, he punched the sandbag, he ate some more. But mostly, Dean talked to her.

The words falling out of his mouth were almost therapeutic, in a way. She listened, riveted to all that he said, heard the way he spoke and the way he paused and searched for the right thing to say.

"How did you get here?"

Dean hadn't responded to that one straight away, instead mulling over his word choice until he was confident. "I'm a _good_ fuckin' human being who took _crap_ from everyone, even the ones I stupidly ended up trustin'. Got stabbed in the back constantly. Almost stabbed my own back." His eyes were on the ground, lips half pulled up, shook his head. "You know, it takes a lot to break a nice person. But takes even more to break one that's already broken within… it's crazy."

As Meredith stared at him, her brown eyes understood that he wasn't finished. He took another couple of seconds before continuing. "I'm not worried about adding more psychological scars on top of other psychological scars, or more scars on my body on top of other scars on my body. And for the longest time, I didn't have anythin' else to live for 'cept puttin' pain on the people who put pain on me. I've done a _lot_ of despicable things to a lot of bad people and I don't feel bad, not for any of it. Nobody takes from me anymore. Those days are over."

She'd understood every single word of what he was saying.

When he had ventured out at some unreasonable hour unable to find sleep, he sat with his back to the cool metal of the shed and lit up an old cigarette. He used to be addicted to them, but now it was a form of lulling his mind into a void of nothing so he could fall asleep.

Of course, Meredith had wandered out as well, wrapped tight in a blanket and sat beside him. "You smoke?"

"Only when I can't sleep," Dean said softly.

He glanced across at her as the cigarette hung limply between his fingers. Took note of the way her pulled back hair was in a state of disarray, the way her fingers shook as she tried to retain warmth. But her eyes were droopy with sleep and she curled against his side, knees bending to rest on his thigh.

"I woke you, didn't I?"

The gentle curve of her lips was all she had to do.

Silence consumed the space between them. Dean watched with tired eyes as breath fell from her lips in a puff of white, then watched the way the darkness in front of them seemed to never end.

When would he see the sun again?

He curved a hesitant arm around her waist, watched her reaction carefully. Slid it a little lower and waited for her to leave, waited for her to run… but she didn't and he pulled her tighter into his side. Slowly, so slowly, she laid her head down on his shoulder, settled against him. And just as gently, Dean laid his head down a top of hers.

Their relationship was growing, expanding. Something like this was soothing on his soul.

Maybe it had been a week, maybe two, but now he was sitting on her couch, a warm cup of coffee between his hands as he stared at a tattered book that was on the table in front of him.

"You didn't have this last time I was here," Dean spoke into the silence. "Is there a library in town?"

Meredith was under his car, fiddling with some components, but her voice was clear as it rang out. "Yeah. Well, I mean, kinda. A good friend of mine runs the stall in the markets, but their actual shop is somewhere just outside of the city."

He gazed over his shoulder at the booted feet ticking out from under the car. "You have friends?"

"Yeah, of course. This town is like a massive family, everyone knows everyone and we all protect each other," Meredith said. She rolled out from the small space, lifted onto her arms to stare at him, but instead his eyes trailed across the thin cover of sweat over her toned arms. When he met her eyes, he shrugged. "You don't have any friends, Dean?"

Dean shrugged again and threw his arm across the back of the couch, rested his chin on top of it.

"Why not?"

"Me and the guys…" he struggled to find the words, frowned. "We had no friends. We had no allies, we _couldn't_ have them and we didn't need them or want them. We answered to no one. We always had each other."

Meredith sat up on the wheeler. "Where are they now, then?"

"One's supposed to be dead," Dean said softly. "The other's working for the same people I am, but he's… more important. More worth their time."

Roman Reigns _was_ supposed to be dead. He'd seen the footage of the beating he'd received from the beast incarnate. But there'd been no body, no proof, and Hunter didn't trust that he wasn't breathing. Dean didn't want to think that his best friend was six feet under, cold as ice, but he didn't have a reason to think that he was still alive.

And very suddenly, the loud noise of a bell rang through the air. Meredith's face morphed from complacent to worry in the space of a second and then she was up, throwing all of her stuff into a metal box.

"Meredith…"

Her hands wrapped around Dean's leather jacket and she tossed it at him, her movements prompting him to stand in anticipation.

"You need to get out of here," she murmured quickly, her eyes flashing in fear. "Go, Dean, get into the tunnels and get to the town hall, Jimmy and Jey will be there and they'll—"

Dean curled his fingers around her arms and cemented her to the ground, his slate blue eyes peering into hers, trying to calm her down as best he could. "Mer, stop, breathe, yeah? What's going on? Talk to me."

"Something's happening," she said quietly, "they only ever ring the bell when we've got visitors and it's always bad, _always_ , so you need to get out of here and get to Jimmy and Jey who can _hide_ you."

He shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."

" _Dean_ ," Meredith hissed, her hands shooting up to hold his face. "You saved me last time, okay? Let me save _you_ now."

It was a long moment of silence. She stared up at him with wide brown eyes, her face anxious, her hands on his face. She was worried for him. For _him_. And she thought that she could save him.

Without really thinking about it, Dean curved an arm around her waist and pulled her in against him, using his other to cup the side of her neck. He pressed his lips down on Meredith's softly, kissed her, felt her react under his touch as she arched up into him. And when he went to pull away, Meredith followed him and kissed him again. More force. More want. Dean ran his tongue along her bottom lip and then she sighed into his mouth. They shared the same breath, the same heartbeat.

This time when Meredith pulled back, they stopped. She gripped his shirt between her fingers, wouldn't meet his eyes for a second. "You come back, okay?" The woman breathed, finally lifting her eyes to stare right at him. "You come back to me, you hear that?"

His voice was just as quiet. "Of course, Mer."

"Now _go_."

—

Meredith had only said goodbye to him two times. But the second time wasn't easier than the first. It was much, much harder.

And she'd lied to him.

Dean had come back to her with a busted cheek, a healing dislocated shoulder, a black eye. She knew that he'd been doing it for a long time before he found her, but that didn't mean she was okay with it.

She knew what that bell meant. It meant that the Authority were back in town. And they could only be here for one thing and one thing only, and that was Dean.

Meredith couldn't let him go back to Vegas, to the cage, to put his body on the line. Not ever.

Before she realised what she was doing, Meredith was pulling the sleeves of her khaki green jumpsuit up her arms, buttoning the material to cover her skin. It wasn't cold in the shed but if _he_ was coming, she'd never let his eyes see her skin voluntarily.

And then she cleaned. Cleaned the dishes in the sink, chugged the rest of Dean's unfinished coffee, made the bed upstairs, freshened herself up.

When she was back downstairs, she realised there was nothing much for her to do. So she laid back down on the wheeler and pushed under Dean's car, stared up at the darkened parts. Pulling a small flashlight out of her jumpsuit pocket, Meredith clicked the light on and placed the metal between her teeth, gazing up at the underbelly of the machine.

She didn't know how long she laid there for. But when the sound of the shed doors sliding open hit her ears, the pounding heart in her chest jumped to her throat, her stomach churning.

Two distinct footsteps? One a scuffing, the other light as a feather.

Neither were Dean.

The pressure of a foot on her wheeler was enough to send her heart into overdrive. Then, she was being pulled out from underneath the vehicle. And staring down at her was none other than the man who called himself a viper. Randy Orton.

"Well, hey there, Meredith," he cooed, "long time no see."

Trying not to let her hands shake, she pulled the flashlight from her mouth. "Something like that."

Meredith pushed up onto her feet and brushed her hands off on her jumpsuit, shoved the metal back into her pocket, tried to meet his gaze head on. "What can I do for you?"

Orton smirked at her. The man towered over her. Almost the same height as Dean, just a little taller. He pushed a leg forwards, backed her against the car. "Funny you should ask that," he said lowly. "I can remember when you used to have skin."

His massive hands grabbed at her jumpsuit and Meredith made a noise of distress as she tried to fight him off, slapping at him until he had both of her hands caught in just one of his.

"C'mon, Meredith," Randy crowed, "don't be like that."

Locking her jaw and turned her head, Meredith refused to look at him. He didn't care. His fingers popped the buttons to her jumpsuit one at a time and then he harshly shoved the material from her shoulders, making easy work of slipping the material over her hands. Orton tied the arms around her hips, looked down at her body in appreciation. He reached behind her and curled his fingers around the curve of her ass. Snake smile on his face.

"That's better, isn't it?" He said as he pushed away.

Meredith stayed against the car with a lifted chin and tried not to let her body shake with fear and anger, but it was no use.

"He's not here, Randall."

She jumped in shock at the new voice, having momentarily forgotten that another person had walked into her shed. When she gazed over her shoulder, a meaty man was gliding down the steps, long stringy hair pulled back and beard falling to his chest. The way he moved was magnetic, like nothing she'd seen before.

"And who do we have here?" The man breathed as he laid his eyes on her figure. "Are you his saviour? The one he runs to when his lungs can't breathe? My, beauty is such a wonderful thing when it's pure…"

"Bray," Orton laughed, "I don't believe you've ever met Meredith Waters before."

His eyes were wide as he walked towards her, arms out in caution. It was too late if he didn't want to frighten her. "You… what an _exquisite_ creature…" the man laughed and then held his hand out to her. "My name is Bray Wyatt."

Meredith reached out to shake his hand gingerly and then backed away from the car, her eyes darting between the two men in her shed.

"I think you know why we're here, Meredith." Randy gazed down at his hand and curled it into a fist, raised an eyebrow. "Dean Ambrose. Where is he?"

"I don't know," she managed to push out.

"You don't know?"

"He went out."

"Where?"

"I don't know…"

Orton's ice blue eyes were glaring at her. But then his lips pulled up in a smirk. "Looks like we'll be here for a while then, Meredith, so why don't you get us a drink?"

* * *

 **i enjoyed writing this one (even though it took a while!), so i hope you guys enjoyed it too! thanks to _Nangel4_ for commenting and to new and old readers for sticking with this story :) xx**


	9. Only a Crazy Man

_location: four days north of Vegas_

He hadn't even made it half-way through the tunnel. Pacing, switching back and forth, to safety or to Meredith, to what she was sure would harm him or to what she was sure would protect him. Dean's lips pulled back over his teeth and he threaded hands through his hair, yelled. To this, to that, away from, towards. Fingers ran over the top of his collar bone, other hand flexing. _Crazy, crazy, crazy, stay away, go back, come back_.

Dean paused.

Her words rang through his mind clear as day. _You come back to me_.

When? When did he go back? There were people expecting him, her friends, Jimmy and Jey, they would take him to safety. _But what about Meredith?_

 _You come back to me_.

Too much.

Dean slapped his hands against the wall and yelled again, held his head between his hands, tried to stop his thoughts from whirring. He was going crazy, he needed a cigarette but he'd left them at Meredith's shed, everything in his mind went back to Meredith, her words in his mind _come back to me, come back to me, come back to me_.

He was walking before he could stop himself. Moved one leg in front of the other until he was covering ground quicker, and then he pushed up and out of the car.

The black SUVs stared him right in the face.

He'd been stupid, so _stupid_ , the first time had been luck that they hadn't got her and he'd come back a second time because he couldn't stay away, he'd come back and if he wanted her to live this was the last time he could see her.

Did he think that Hunter wouldn't notice? That Stephanie wouldn't notice? He never came back to the same place, there was always some different corner he'd retreat to before they found him.

But he'd been here twice. And now they knew.

Dean sucked a deep breath into his lungs and let his face drop into one of indifference. Yet the moment he walked through her shed doors, the moment his eyes laid on the way Orton was sitting next to her and the way Wyatt was staring right at him, he felt anything but indifference.

There was a thick leg pushed under hers, his hand on her thigh and the arms of her jumpsuit haphazardly tied around her hips. Orton, with his hands all over her, looked smug, like he'd won something.

And it made Dean's blood _boil_. The moment the opportunity presented itself, he would _happily_ rip the viper's tongue out of his mouth and drive his fist down his throat. Remove his teeth. Tear off an ear.

"Just the man we were waitin' for, huh, Meredith?" Orton said smugly, lips pulling tight across his teeth.

Bray Wyatt stood immediately and walked towards him. "Dean," he crowed, "my brother, Sister Abigail has healed you well."

Dean pointedly dodged the meaty man and instead moved towards where his pack of cigarettes was resting next to a couple of the books he'd been reading. He gazed at Meredith under his eyelashes, saw the panic and the warning in her eyes. He didn't care.

"Get the fuck off the couch," he muttered at Orton, knew the excuse he was going to throw back at him. "I don't care who your father is, never new mine. Third generation? Suck my dick."

Just like he'd thought, the taunt had Orton on his feet right away. And maybe Dean was crazy, provoking a known killer, but he'd danced with death more than enough times to know his chances of coming out alive were much higher. Almost nose to nose, Dean grinned smugly at the viper-like man in front of him.

"Say that again, go on," Randy hissed at him.

So Dean did just that. Enunciated each word, too, just to drive it home. "Suck. My. Dick."

Orton's fist hit him right on the button of his nose, head flying back, and he felt the warm blood start to cascade down his nostrils. But when he looked back at the aggressive man, he was still smiling.

"C'mon, do it again," Dean hissed, slapping his cheek with his own hand, "we both know you like in the ass, anyway."

His face was priceless. But before Randy could hit him again, Wyatt was pushing between them, his beady eyes staring right at Dean.

"Dean," Bray was laughing, "Dean, I know what you're tryin' to do, man, and I can't help but wonder, I must ask you… in the end… will it all be worth it? You've played this game before, Dean, do you remember?" The smile disappeared from his face quick as lightning. "Do you remember the way her screams haunted you? Do you remember when you used to wake in a cold sweat, _beggin_ ' for her to come back to you?"

And now the smug look was gone from his face. He remembered. He remembered clear as crystal. He'd provoked Slater, slapped him and mocked him until he was having the living crap beat out of him, and in what he claimed was self-defence, he'd driven Slater's head into the ground hard enough to crush it. He remembered the sound of the skull fracturing. Remembered that they had taken Renee to punish him. Remembered that they had tortured her and brainwashed her until she was no longer the woman he was in love with. With the flick of a finger, Sister Abigail had ruined the best thing that had happened to him since the floods. And now Bray Wyatt stood, his unspoken threat turning Dean's eyes stone cold. Fire shifted under his flesh. They would _never_ get the chance to do that to Meredith. Never. He'd never let them while he was still breathing.

"'Cause look at her, like an angel, sittin' so pure," Bray continued.

But when Bray looked back over his shoulder, when Dean followed his gaze, Meredith was no longer sitting. She was standing stock still, fingers wrapped around a large spanner, eyes burning.

She looked ready to beat a skull in.

Her anger shifted something inside of him and he knew, he knew right then, that they wouldn't let her live. She was too much of a spitfire, too full of spirit, too much like someone who belonged to the movement. And he knew right then that he loved her.

"You've got another fight," Orton pushed out, "go get your shit, I'm getting out of this fuck of a town before my head gets hit by lightning."

"Wouldn't that be a gift."

Randy's glare was hard.

—

Roman was waiting. Jimmy and Jey were standing around anxiously, glancing down at their watches, pacing back and forth. But he couldn't find the will to stand after being on his feet for so many days.

"He's s'posed to be here by now," Jey mused, "it don't take this long to walk through the tunnel, Ro."

Something was wrong.

He'd seen the black SUV roll right past him and towards the repair shed. The bells above his head had rung right away and then Jimmy was pulling him towards a black tunnel, explaining that Dean would come through it.

"Because that woman, Meredith, man, she loves him," Jimmy had said, "she told me two weeks ago that if their SUV came rolling back through this town, she'd send him right down this tunnel and to us. Uce, man, he's comin'. Just you wait."

But his cousin's beliefs had fallen short. Jimmy had been wrong. Something was _wrong_.

Roman stood and quietly made his way towards the large double doors. He stood just inside the archway, just behind the shadows. Stared out into the grey.

Out here, it wasn't so bad. The grass actually grew, for one, and he hadn't seen green for a while.

The sound of thunder cracked above his head, and when he gazed up, the clouds were almost black. Breath puffed around his face in white. This place had winters almost as bad as the ice city, but the thunderstorms were much worse. Torrential rain, dangerous lightning strikes, loud, crackling thunder. More than a few people had been struck by lightning before.

But just before Roman retreated back under the roof of the tall building, he heard the sound of a very familiar car — the black SUV. He didn't move, didn't think that they would see him where he was.

And when he saw the lighter car trailing them, a battered, old looking thing, Roman stepped forwards.

Slate blue eyes locked on his through the window.

Dean was staring right at him.

And just like a flash, the man in the car was gone.

But he'd seen him. Dean had seen him. Dean knew he was alive.

* * *

 **i'd make this update longer, 'cept that would take away from it i think... anyhow, hope you enjoyed, my loves!**

 **to Nangel4;** Meredith is in a loooot of trouble, but we'll just wait and see how much. thank-you so much for your kind words x

 **welcome to new readers, thank you to old readers, let me know what you think x**


	10. A Fight to the Bloody End

**A Fight to the Bloody End**

He was dragging her upstairs before she could use the spanner in her hands, grabbed her shoulders once they were no longer in sight of the two Authority goons.

"Did he hurt you?" Dean asked straight away, eyes assessing her face and then the bare skin of her torso.

"No, no," she breathed back at him. Her fingers traced along his stubble, eyes darting between his as she stared up at him. "Dean, what are you doing back here? I told you to go to Jimmy and Jey, I told you that they could protect you—"

"No way in hell I'm leaving you here with them."

Meredith's eyes flashed in guilt and she turned her head away from him, sucking her lip into her mouth. "I'm not staying."

"What?"

His voice was quiet. Husky. The word annunciated perfectly. He stared at her with narrowed eyes, curled his fingers around her jaw to angle her face back to him. "What do you mean you're not staying?"

"Dean…" Meredith glanced over her shoulder at the door. "Orton… he said that I was coming with you. That I was needed in Vegas."

He looked at her for what felt like a very long time, slate eyes trying to understand what she'd just said. But then he pushed away, paced the room, his fists clenching and unclenching and then he was gone, flying down the stairs before she could stop him. "Dean!" She called, hoping that he would just let it go. But he marched forwards to Randy who was now staring at them in question and drove his fist right into the man's face.

Randy keeled backwards and landed flat on his ass. His hands were clutching his nose and he moaned in pain, but Bray was pushing Dean back before he could do any more damage.

"Sorry," he said through a tight lipped grin, "needed to hit something, turns out you have an _extremely_ punchable face."

The man on the floor hissed at him.

Meredith knotted her fingers in Dean's jacket and pulled him back, almost dragging the agitated man up the stairs with her.

An hour later saw Meredith finally pulling Dean's old vehicle from the car hoist and rolling it out of the shop, the engine completely fine like it had been for the past four weeks.

Four weeks.

She'd known him now for a month. He'd turned up, stayed the week, been gone for the next, and had now lived with her for another two — two weeks which had gone past like a flash of lightening, two weeks which had cemented their relationship, their connection.

And now, as she sat across from him in the space of his car, she watched his face morph from resignation to recognition.

"Dean…?"

He threw another glance back over his shoulder and she could almost hear the gears in his head trying to twist and turn into something that he could make sense of. Meredith watched as his fingers tightened around the leather wheel. Had he seen something? The only thing she saw when she glanced out the window was the town hall, the place she'd taken him for their first shop together. Had he seen something there?

"Jesus fucking Christ," he said under his breath.

As his eyes fell back to the road, Meredith shifted to send a questioning look at him. "What is it, Dean?"

"Roman Reigns."

The silence that followed the two words was prompt enough for Dean to continue.

"Roman Reigns," he said again as his slate eyes glanced at him. "I told you he was dead, that I was sure he was dead, but I swear to whatever fuckin' Gods are left that I just saw Roman Reigns at the entrance of the town hall."

Meredith's head spun. She threw another look over the back of her seat, but apart from the black SUV behind them, there was nothing to see.

"Dean, I don't…" the woman trailed off. It was too late for her too see whether he was right or not.

"Look, Meredith," Dean said lowly. "I _know_ that you know this… but if you're coming with me, you know that whatever's waiting for you won't be nice. I don't know what they want from me, I don't know what they want from you, I don't know what the fuck is going on, but the only thing I know is that you need to get out of this alive."

She opened her mouth, ready to pour out words that would get her opinion across, but Dean just shook his head. "No, no, you _listen_ to me, Meredith. These people will _kill_ you if I don't do what they want, okay? I don't fuckin' care what they do to me but if they so much as look at you the wrong way, they won't like the reaction. So the first fuckin' chance you get, _get out_. I'm _done_ having people I love taken away from me, I'm _done_ losing."

"Dean…" Meredith paused, her lips pulled down. She had a million things to say and couldn't find the words to say them with. "I— I— don't act like you're alone anymore, Dean, I'm not going anywhere…"

" _They will kill you!_ "

The pull inside of her chest was real when his voice raised and broke. Dean dragged a hand down his mouth and took in a deep breath, looked out his window to calm himself.

It was like a hurricane meeting a mountain. Dean was spinning, out of control, a constant state of confusion and rage and momentary calm, and as much destruction as he caused, there was no way he could move the mountain; Meredith's stability, her grounded, equalised approach to what was thrown in her path. She wanted to be the one to end that anger, he didn't want to drag her into his mess or destroy her.

Silence filled the space between them.

"I don't want to be the reason that you die."

—

 _location: Vegas (south of the last flooded town)_

Why was he back here? In this cell, in this prison, flinging his fists into thin air, pumping his body up.

His shoulder ached as he punched nothing, hissed as he tried to massage it. And like the woman had felt his pain, Sister Abigail stepped through the bars with some medical tape in her left hands, scissors in the right.

"Sit down."

He did as he was told. Dean had been through this enough time to know exactly what she would do, but he still stared in a lazy sort of wonder. The black tape was on first. She twisted her hands around his outstretched arm until it covered the skin and then brought it over and across his chest, just under his opposite armpit. When she sliced the sticky tape and finished the taping across his back, she followed the same pattern with a white bandage.

"Do you know who I'm fighting against?" Dean asked into the silence of the cell.

Abigail's eyes flicked up to his and then dropped to the scissors. Her silence wasn't an answer.

"Abigail?"

"He asked for it."

"Who asked for it?"

She snipped the last of the white tape from the roll in her hands and backed away, stared at her work appreciatively. "Orton."

 _Ah_. The smirk that lined his face was dangerous. Slapping the man around like he had back in the small town didn't do him any favours, but his wish was granted; he was going to locked in a steel cage with the viper and his stomach curled deliciously. Maybe he should have been scared, but he wasn't.

Abigail handed the rest of the two tapes in her hand to him, watched him wrap his fists as tightly as he could with the black and then double up on it with the white. He couldn't stop the curve of his lips.

"Don't do anything stupid," Abigail warned him.

 _Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything stupid._

Dean lowered his eyes to his fists and knocked them together.

 _Time to do something stupid._

He was lead out by the woman, smirking at the sound of people, for once, cheering him. They must've liked his odds against the man who had been dubbed as a 'legend killer' between these four steel walls.

Everything in his sight was red.

Orton, who had nothing but wrestling shorts on, jumped on the spot as his viper eyes smiled at Dean.

They were respectively introduced and Dean adjusted the jeans around his hips just once before the announcer left the cage. Above him, the bell rang. The smile that sat on his lips was made for war.

Dean dashed forwards, fist after fist, jab, punch, pushing Orton back into the corner, driving his hands into the man's gut.

He was going to enjoy this.

—

She had never seen someone so lost.

Dean stood in that cage looking like he belonged, acting like he belonged, but he didn't. He didn't belong between the steel, giving just as good as he got.

Meredith wasn't stupid. She knew that the way he was able to keep going even when he'd been put down multiple times was something special. And that was probably why he was being paid good money to almost kill people; because he just didn't give a crap.

"You see, the worst kind of person you wanna be with when you're in that cage is the kind of person Dean Ambrose is, because he doesn't give two single fucks of what happens to him, just as long as he wins in the end."

Meredith glanced at the woman next to her. It was Stephanie, the same woman that had exploited her abilities as a mechanic and kept her trapped in the small town, the same woman who was married to the man that used Dean like a pawn. Her blue eyes were sparkling as she watched on and Meredith _knew_ that it was because she enjoyed seeing people hurt themselves in front of her. She would never understand that.

"Orton asked for this," she continued. "He wanted to beat him. He won't."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

There was blood already sprouting from Dean's mouth, his shoulder had popped out twice, and it looked _bad_. But Randy looked much worse. An open gash on his forehead had red spilling down his face and at some stage, Meredith was sure his collar bone had broken.

"When Dean wins tonight— and he will —we want to host a party. Just a small gathering of the people who fund our business with their money." Stephanie turned to look at Meredith, her full attention now on the mechanic. "We heard a long time ago that you enjoyed singing, that you were good at it. So we'll give you some coverage, show you off, let you do your thing."

Meredith stiffened. "You want me to sing?"

"Look at it as an _opportunity!_ "

Head spinning ferociously, Meredith turned to look back at Dean. Randy was on the ground. He was standing over the motionless body. Eyes drooped, hand up to her face, she watched his emotions morph from one of complete disbelief to one of anger.

To her left, she heard a fuzzy sounding cackle. "We'll get you ready, don't you worry about that."

And then all Meredith could see was the black.

* * *

 **i tried to upload this yesterday but the server was down... anyhow, here it is!**

 **thank-you Nangel4 for the kind words, you really make my day!**


	11. What A Wonderful World

**What a Wonderful World**

Everything was… was dark. She couldn't really peel open her eyelids at first, but there was the soft humming of music that sounded like it was muffled, like through a wall, and her head was pounding. _What had Stephanie put into her drink?_

"Y'now, I have to say… you're not really what I expected."

That voice was closer than the music and Meredith moaned, pushed herself back to the wall. When she managed to glance around the dark room, a man with two colours in his hair was standing at the door. It was closed, almost like he was guarding it, but his eyes were soft and there was a grin playing at his lips that almost made Meredith feel like she was safe.

"I mean, Dean— well, he doesn't really have a particular taste, but… he likes blondes more. Usually, I mean. Dark hair is more my thing. But you're attractive, so, I get it."

The words were falling out of his mouth almost like he just wanted to fill the silence with it. Had he been talking when she was out?

"Who are you?" When she spoke, her voice sounded like nails grating along a chalkboard.

"Seth Rollins."

 _Seth Rollins_. She'd heard that name before, but her head was still spinning and she felt like she was underwater.

But he kept going. "Ambrose doesn't talk a lot about anything at all, so I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't mention me, but— a long time ago, we were friends. Brothers, you could say. There was, uh— there was Roman, as well. But he betrayed us. Chose to work with the movement, work against us."

Was he… was he trying to get a different point across with what he was saying?

Meredith stared across at him and watched the glint in his eye, the curve of his lips. He was being subtle. Because she remembered, remembered that he was a double agent, remembered that him and Dean and Roman were still brothers but were playing an extremely dangerous game. Seth was warning her. Telling her not to say anything that would compromise him.

The woman cleared her throat. "What do you want from me?"

"Didn't Stephanie mention something?" He asked slowly. "Dean won. Against Orton— the viper, or whatever he calls himself, he didn't get back up before the count. Just like Hunter guess. So they're celebrating his win tonight by throwing a party at the joint that Del Rio owns."

 _Del Rio?_

As Seth watched her, his mood changed. The man became cautious almost, like he was cornering a scared animal, and he walked forwards slowly to crouch in front of her. "Listen to me," he said, "you do what they tell you, okay? You wanna live? You do _exactly_ what they tell you to do. Dean is going _out of his mind_ because the last time he saw you, you collapsed. He will ruin this _all_ if you do something stupid and they hurt you, you hear me? So you do what they want when they want it." His voice was nothing more than a whisper when he finished, but he may as well have been yelling the words at her.

And she just nodded because she _understood_. Whatever they were working towards and whatever they were planning, she wouldn't ruin it. She couldn't be the reason that everything went to hell.

"What do I do?" Meredith murmured back at him.

The smile on his face was reassuring, at least. "We'll take you to Foxy and get you done up for the evening. Stephanie mentioned something about you singing? I need a couple of songs so they can get arrangements done, if that's okay."

And, okay— it seemed that Stephanie McMahon had been completely serious with her. She _was_ singing. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought but she still listed off a few songs and hoped that the gentle nature would be enough to please whoever it was she was supposed to be making happy.

When Seth managed to get Meredith out of the room she'd been in and half carry her to another a little further down the hall, the woman waiting was… something else.

"Honey, I have two rules. Don't tell me your name, don't try and be my friend," her voice was husky, like at some point she'd been a smoker, and her skin was beautifully dark, hair that curled at all angles. "There's some water on the table. Drink it, have the pain killers 'cause it'll help with your headache. Oh, take off your clothes while you're at it."

—

Dean had never felt so useless in his entire life.

He'd seen Meredith walk in with clothes that made his blood boil in more ways than one and all he wanted to do was burn this Goddamned building to the ground and get her and get out.

Del Rio's burlesque bar wasn't horrible… but it was owned and managed _by_ Del Rio, so by association, it _was_ horrible.

The Mexican owner had walked up to Meredith straight away and took her hand between his, brought it to his lips as he introduced himself with "hope your day has been as nice as your ass is, señorita," mouth curving like a predator around the last word as he gazed at her. Dean had bared his teeth and sucked in a long drag from the cigar hanging from his fingertips. _That sleazy fucker._

Even though the night was for him, it was more for Stephanie and Hunter— for their investors, for the people who paid them good money to stay on top. If the power couple wanted to, they could have easily killed all of the investors and taken their money anyway. But they needed all the supporters they could get.

"Another one?"

Dean gazed over his shoulder at the British woman co-running the bar. Her hair was mostly black, some tinting at the ends that shone blue in the light. She looked young. But the makeup around her eyes was dark and she could have been eighteen or twenty-eight.

The drink in his hand was straight bourbon and it burned going down the back of his throat, but he wasn't even close to getting another one. Slate blue's stared at the woman across from him.

"I'll take that as a yes."

His eyes trailed after her as she zipped around the bar. A bottle here, a bottle there, a quick but hefty shake.

The woman slid the finished drink across to him and placed a crumpled looking napkin on the table. "Compliments from the man sitting left of the stage," she said. Then, more quietly, "don't open that until you're sure no one is watching."

She walked away then and Dean had to steal himself from snatching at the napkin straight away. Who— who had— he looked towards the stage and of course, sitting there, staring across at him with a slight tug at the corner of his mouth, sneaky glint in his eyes, sat Seth Rollins. _Of course_. The only person stupid enough to do something like send a secret message in a place filled with people who would beat them both half to death if they knew the truth. A grin pulled at Dean's own lips. For a moment, he forgot all about the problems weighing at the back of his mind and his mind was back to the days where Hunter had initially saved them, the days where Roman and Seth and Dean's only form of communication had been through subtle little messages here and there. The choice of a song, of a book, of food. They'd been sneaky fucks and had gotten away with it more times than not.

So Dean waited.

He stayed leaning against the bar with his eyes peeled for any sign of Meredith and the cigar hanging from his fingers, drink perched in the other hand.

But he didn't have to wait long, because soon enough, Meredith was being pushed onto the stage and the few people that joined her set up their instruments. A guitar, a violin, a piano, and a set of wooden boxes that a man was sitting on top of.

Glancing down at the napkin, he read the words. Once, twice. Three times. Then ripped it up and sunk it into the drink that Seth had ordered for him.

Stephanie McMahon was quick to get up on stage, microphone in hand. "I would like to thank you all for joining us here tonight," she spoke, "on this _monumental_ occasion— because _not only_ do we have the one and only, the _unbeatable_ Dean Ambrose here… we also have this lovely woman that he's picked up on his travels who has _quite_ the voice! Or so I've head," Stephanie glanced around nervously and laughed. And everyone laughed with her and Dean's stomach curled. "So, ladies and gentlemen, without any further ado, I give to you… Meredith Waters."

Red dress and curled hair, eyes more scared than anything else, Meredith stepped up to the microphone. She clasped the thing with both hands and gazed over her shoulder as if looking for a cue, and then nodded.

And when her voice rang out through the bar… no instruments, no additions, just the pure sound— Dean's skin crawled. _If kittens smoked cigars and sang soul music_ , he thought, _that's what it would sound like_.

He felt transfixed as he watched her, couldn't take his eyes off of her even if he wanted to— which he didn't—, and just got _lost_ in the words tumbling out of her mouth. He knew the song, an old Bill Withers classic that was hard to miss, and by the time she'd stopped, he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

The next song was much the same. Gritty, rough, but completely angelic.

And by the time she'd done five songs, Dean was well on his way to ripping her out of this place and driving to where ever her voice took him.

She was given a raucous applause by the people who had paid to get in, as well as by the people who had paid _for_ an audience, and he pulled the cigar to his lips and took a long drag. His mouth formed an 'o', white smoke curling from his lips as his slate blue eyes stayed locked on her body, and then she was looking back at him.

Not even three seconds. He didn't last _three_ seconds before he'd laid the drink on the table and stubbed what he had left in his hand, walking towards where Meredith had stilled.

There were people around her but he didn't even fucking care; his arms curved around her waist and he pushed his mouth against her ear as he commanded "dance with me." She wasn't saying no to him. And he had no reason to hide this, because Stephanie had made it clear that they were together.

It probably wasn't really even dance music, but the hazy atmosphere in the bar and the refined guitar plucking worked just fine for him.

Dean's hands were tight on her hips and she had one of hers twisted in the material of his shirt.

And his eyes, as he stared down at her, were both possessive and full of wonder.

"I could feel you staring at me the whole time," her voice was barely a whisper, but it was there.

His gaze didn't waver. "Hard not to."

Meredith turned her head at the sound of murmurs, frowned. "They're all staring," she almost mused out loud, "why are they all staring at us?"

"I don't dance."

He could see the unspoken _'sorry?'_ in her eyes.

"I don't dance," Dean said again. "I don't mingle, I don't talk to anyone. They're staring because I'm doing both with you."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No."

 _No_. He relished the feel of her in his arms. Safe, where she belonged.

Still, his eyes ventured over the top of his head as he tried to figure out how many people he would have to kill to get her out in one piece. In the back of his mind, the words that Rollins had scrolled were screaming at him. _Remember 'plan b'? It's time._ Oh, he remembered. Damn fucking right, he remembered.

Meredith's soft and calloused hands tugged his face to look down at hers. "Whatever you're thinking— I can see the _red_ of it. Stop."

A smirk curved at his mouth. He could get used to having her around to keep him in line.

* * *

 **okay so i feel horrible about the wait on this one, as usual i got caught up with my other story, im sorry!**

 **everything seems okay right now... where do we go next?**

 **to Nangel4,** indeed Randy got what was coming to him! hope you enjoyed this little update :)! **, quinzel harley,** you know you're the third person to tell me that is reminiscent of mad max? damn. glad you're loving the story! **, and Triss81,** thanks for joining the journey! enjoy it :) **, thanks for the reviews, you guys get all my love!**


	12. Playing The Game

**Playing The Game  
** _location: just outside of the ice city_

He'd barely made it back in one piece.

The hair on the back of his neck was on end and his nerves were frazzled, but ahead of him was the entrance way back to where he called his home and he wasn't stopping now. No, no— he was going to make it and then he was going to use whatever warm water was left.

Roman stepped out from the shadows.

And that was his mistake.

"Roman Reigns."

Skin crawling at the sound of the voice, eyes widening, the Samoan spun on his heels and stared across at the two men. Seth had told him that something like this would happen, that he'd have to fight his way out, but he didn't expect it to be so close to where hundreds of people were seeking refuge. Seth had _told_ him to be careful, to not draw them near. But he had. _Stupid stupid stupid son of a bitch_. All he wanted to do was sprint away from the men in front of him.

But the men standing before him weren't about to let him run. The Big Show, a giant of a man who stood almost at seven foot, and next to him the person who used to be the world's strongest man, Mark Henry. The latter had gotten himself in trouble a long time ago and the jagged scar spanning across his throat was the reminder that his larynx was gone.

A smirk curved at Big Show's lips. "When Hunter said you were still alive, I didn't believe him."

Stormy grey's betrayed his stone cold façade. "Takes a lot more than a beast to kill a Samoan," Roman said, "piss gold and bleed diamonds." Then, he laughed. "Aren't you getting too old for the hunt, Show? Thought you'd be long retired by now."

The giant's lips pulled up in a snarl and he took a threatening step forward, but the man next to him just shook his head as he laid a dark hand on his shoulder. The Big Show sniffed and pushed his shoulders back. "Some of us prefer to be standing on the front lines than taking a vacation in a place that isn't made for them."

"What happened, Show?" Roman smiled again, but this time it was in disappointment. "You used to hate everything The Authority stood for, and now you're their whipping boy. What, do you bring mommy and daddy breakfast too?"

"What happened, Reigns?" The giant mocked. "You used to bat for the winning team before turning your back. Killing all those people must've been it for you, huh? Lost your sanity and your soul in the same night, it seems." He grasped a fist in his hand, lips pulling up into a predatory smile as he watched Roman's reaction carefully. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, you're comin' with us."

"Actually," a feminine voice announced loudly, "he's not going anywhere."

When Roman glanced back over his shoulder, Brie Bella was standing there with the silver handgun pointing in the giant's direction. Part of him wanted to bless this woman, part of him wanted to punch her— how could she be so _stupid_ to throw herself into this mess?

"Now _that_ I didn't see happening," Big Show mused out loud.

The Mexican woman moved to stand at Roman's side, her eyes burning, arms unwavering. She looked strong, but he knew that she wouldn't be out here if she wasn't comfortable with it.

"Let me tell you how this is going to work," Brie said slowly. "You two can back it up and get the fuck out of my town or I'll put a bullet between your eyes." A slight pause. Then, "I don't miss."

The Big Show stepped forward.

The shot from the gun next to him was loud enough to garner a flinch, and with wide eyes Roman stared as Mark Henry collapsed onto the hard ground. And like Brie had said she would, there was a bullet hole between his eyes. Roman watched as Brie slightly repositioned herself. She didn't even look perturbed, she didn't look like she cared that she'd just ended a person's life. The woman looked like she was ready to do the exact same thing to remaining man without so much as a blink.

"You wanna rethink that, Show?"

Nodding, the giant pursed his lips and dragged a hand across his face. "You're a lucky man, Roman. They'll get you, sooner or later, and that pretty thing next to you won't be there to save you."

He crossed his thick arms, raised an eyebrow. "If I were you, I'd start moving."

The moment The Big Show had left their line of sight, Roman wrapped his hands around Brie's shoulders and shook her. "What in God's name were you _thinking?!_ "

"I was thinking that I'd rather not lose someone else!" Brie spat at him. "You're Goddamned welcome for saving your ass, by the way, but no, that's fine, I had _no_ idea what I was doing and I _should_ have let them take you!"

He pushed away from the Mexican with a growl and stalked towards the entrance to their town. But as soon as he had, he spun around and thrust a finger into her face. "Don't you ever do that again, you got it? I had it _handled_. If you'd missed or that gun had a malfunction, _you would be dead right now_."

"But I'm not!" Brie sighed and grabbed Roman's hand, dragging him the other way.

"What are you doing?"

"Y'know, for someone who's smart, you can be really stupid sometimes," she muttered. The were walking back towards the shadows he'd emerged from and Roman had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't get the opportunity for a warm bathe. "The Big Show _literally_ just found you outside the ice city. If we go in there, we lead them to the people that are prepared to kill them— it'd be a slaughter house. We need to get some where else and just stay low, stay away from the streets for a bit. It's the smartest move we can make right now."

Roman had to be honest— the Bella twin made a lot of sense. He didn't argue with her.

"You know… you let him get into your head." When the woman looked back at him, her eyes were soft. "What he said back there? That you lost your sanity and your soul? I don't think that at all. I know that you still think about it, fuck, I _watch_ your eyes glaze over every time you're reminded of it, but it was kill or be killed. You didn't have a choice, not then. But now? Now, Roman, you can choose to let it go. You and I both know that you're a _lot_ stronger than you permit yourself to be." Brie squeezed his arm, let go, kept walking through the snow like she hadn't just tried to fix the part of him that was broken.

So he let it go too.

His legs were sore as it was and his head was pounding, but Brie had a backpack thrown over her shoulder with a few tubs of water and some tinned food from a scavenger run she must've done before he got back.

Thoughts whirred through his mind as he thought back to Seth, all those days ago where Brie had came to him with a smile plastered across her face and a two-toned man gazing over her shoulder. "I thought you said you'd never met Seth?" Roman asked sceptically. "You knew him when you brought him in, though."

Brie raised a shoulder. "It was a long time ago, before the floods. I didn't know him as Seth, he was… back then, he was Tyler Black."

—  
 _location: Vegas, south-west of the last flooded town_

Seth knew that he was pushing the limits. He'd become more brazen and less stealthy as soon as he knew that Hunter and Stephanie trusted him— but now that he knew their trust in him was diminishing? He needed to know _everything_ that was going on.

So as he sat, huddled in the corner of Hunter's office, he was _really_ doubting his credibility as an architect.

 _More like a bulldozer_ , he thought bitterly, _ruin everything_.

But his breathing stilled when he heard the footsteps that no doubt belonged to his boss.

"I don't care who had a gun pointed at your head, Show, I gave you _one_ job and that was to bring Roman Reigns _back to me_."

The door slammed open and Seth flinched, tried to push himself deeper into the corner he'd chosen to hide in. It was over if he was found, it was done, he'd be dead and Dean would lose whatever was left of his mind and kill everyone. It wasn't a game anymore. He would _die_ if Hunter found him like this.

"Yeah? How do you figure that? _Find him_. Bring him to me _in one piece_. Or I'll stick your head on a pole."

There was silence for a moment, then the sound of Hunter flinging his body onto the leather couch that was in the centre of the room. "I swear to God, if you want something done right…"

A rapture of knuckles sounded on the door. "Enter," The Game said.

"Sir," it was Kane. "I'd like to talk to you about Rollins and Ambrose, if you have a few moments. I believe that they might be planning against us."

The blood in his veins ran cold.

"Accusing someone of treason if a big move, Kane."

"Yes, but… at first it seemed odd to me. They haven't talked to each other to our knowledge since Roman Reigns betrayed us, but every now and then, Mr. Rollins will leave a little something for the lunatic."

Hunter snorted. "Once friends, always friends. If you're wasting my time—"

"No! No, not at all. Like I said, at first it seemed odd. You sent Orton after Rollins, did you not?"

"I did."

"And why was that?"

"Once friends, always friends," he repeated, but this time softer, like he was beginning to see where Kane was coming from.

"Did Orton report anything to you?"

"Nothing."

Seth smirked at that. He'd cornered the viper once he'd returned from fetching Dean and Meredith and pushed him into a state of mind angry enough to demand a match against Ambrose in the steel cage. And where was the viper now? _Architect_.

"Does that not seem _odd_ to you?"

Silence echoed around the room as Hunter turned over the thoughts in his mind, and then the leather was squeaking as he stood. "Roman Reigns is still alive. If he knows that we're after him, who do you think he's going to try and warn?" Kane didn't answer. "He's going to warn Ambrose. And the moment Ambrose knows that Reigns is alive, we'll lose him. That can't happen. That can't happen… I want you to get Rollins for me."

"…Sir?"

Seth could here the gears of Hunter's mind working from where he sat. "Kane, the man isn't _stupid_ enough to double cross me."

Well… _debatable_.

"Mark Henry is dead. The Big Show isn't as talented a tracker. I want you to send Rollins to the Wyatt Family, get him to give the basics of where he thinks the ice city is. If Roman Reigns knows that we're after him, he won't be there— but that doesn't mean that we can't hit him where it hurts. Rollins will give us the ice city. And you… I'm going to give you Ambrose. Because he's going to give us Reigns."

* * *

 **dun dun duunnnnnnn! brie is smarter and deadlier than she appears and the cerebral assassin is... the cerebral assassin?**

 **to Nangel4;** plan b is beating the game at his own game! maybe. if they're smart enough. who knows at this stage! i'm sure it'll come to me ;) glad you're enjoying this!, **and to next-to-nerdy;** that's such a huge compliment, wow! you definitely know how to make a girl's day! i'm glad you think so hehe :)

 **much love xx**


	13. Scream For Me

**Scream for Me**

"This is your room."

Sister Abigail, who had been leading the both of them, stopped short at a door that was as far away from the elevator as it was close. The mechanic beside him was exhausted and struggling to even stay awake and frankly so was he, but he would _never_ leave Meredith in the hands of Sister Abigail. _Ever_.

When he pushed the two of them inside the small apartment, it was just that— _small_. There was one queen bed, one bathroom, not even an old TV or a kitchen.

But the stench of the cigar he'd been smoking clung to his leather jacket and his hair and he helped Meredith gently onto the bed and then pushed away from her, slinking into the bathroom as quietly as he could.

The mirror was cracked as he stared at his reflection. His entire being ached. A split lip, a cut along his hairline. His shoulder had new strapping and there was a high chance that one of his fingers had been dislocated, but the thing that hurt the most was his head. God, he'd been slammed into that steel cage more times than Orton had punched him.

He couldn't— he couldn't even _think_ of what would've happened to her if he hadn't won.

Cold water splashed onto his face, tissues soaking up the rest of the grime and sweat, Dean fought the heavy lids of his eyes, stripped, stepped underneath the cold water pouring from the shower faucet. But he was out just as quick and drying himself off, pulling the singlet and his jeans back on because the last thing he wanted to do was scare Meredith with his— _inability_ to dress himself properly.

"Are we— do they expect us to share the bed?"

He paused at her voice and glanced up, saw Meredith sitting on the very edge with a worried look on her face. _She didn't want to sleep next to him._

"I'll sleep on the floor," he murmured quietly. Tried to hide the disappointment from his face, but she saw it right away.

"No, no, I didn't— I didn't mean it like that…" Meredith trailed off as she reached forward, wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "I, uh, I promise I don't bite. Or snore."

A tired grin tilted at the corner of his mouth. "Can't promise the same."

The two settled under the covers and part of him wanted to pull her body against him, part of him wanted to just hold her close. The room was as dark as it was going to get but he could still see a glint in her caramel eyes, could see the little grin on her lips as she stared right back at him. "What?" he asked softly.

"It's just—" Meredith broke off and sighed, lowered her eyes. "This is insane. This entire thing—"

The secrets, the sneaking around. Hiding their two-timing in the same walls they were working against. "Yeah," he breathed, "it is, isn't it?"

He didn't even think it he'd been trying to sleep for an hour before a quiet rap sounded across the wood of the front door, and with a groan Dean rolled onto his back.

The mechanic beside him had been curled into his back and if he hadn't seen her breathing, he would have thought she'd left. But she was there, real, under his fingers as he trailed a hand through her soft hair.

But the person on the other side of the door knocked again, and Dean pushed away from the comfort of the bed.

Rollins was standing on the other side.

His eyes were flitting around and he darted inside straight away, not even bothering to look around before dragging Dean into the bathroom across from the bed, his eyes searching for every kind of tap or fan that would make a noise, turning everything on, and when Dean reached out to try and stop him, the look of fear in his eyes made the other man pause.

"What's going on?"

"We're fuckin'— we're fucked, we're done for," Seth murmured, trailing hands through his dark brown hair. "Reigns—"

"I know."

Seth paused at that. "You— you know?"

"I saw him," he breathed, "on the way here, I saw him. I know."

A look that was almost relief flashed across Rollins' face. "Oh, thank God."

"So what's the problem then?"

"They're going to ask for the location of the ice city," Seth said, "from _me_. How— how do I get out of that? How do I warn them?"

Dean understood the anxiety surrounding his friend then. He could feel the colour drain from his face and a string of expletives fell from his mouth, ran a hand down the stubble along his jaw. "Fucked if I know," he muttered. "Can you, I don't know, can you get a message out? Get them out to somewhere else?

"I don't— I don't know," Seth replied. "I don't fuckin' know what to do, Dean." The man took a deep breath and let out a frustrated growl, held his head between his hands. "I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do…"

There was a drawn out silence.

"Give it to them," Dean muttered as he gazed at the running water. "Give them where it is. That city was designed to withstand— what, how many people? How many guns? They'll get through it, they have the advantage when it comes to location, the buildings will give them height— they'll be _fine_."

"But—"

"Seth, the only thing that matters right now is that we get out of this alive," he grabbed his brother by the shoulders, slate blue eyes locked on brown. "I don't care how it happens— we save Roman. And if that means we have to get rid of the boss and that bitch of a wife, I don't care. We get Roman, we get you out of here, and we just _run_."

Seth was staring at Dean and nodding, absorbing the words, but then his face dropped again.

"They're giving you to Kane."

Dean's entire face shifted.

—

 _past— days since the flood; 182_

 _location; vegas_

He'd lost count of how long he'd been in this four-walled cell. Two weeks? Two months?

The bare metal bed frame was propped up against the wall opposite him and his legs were pulled up to his chest, elbows resting on knees. He was pretty sure that most of his brain cells had been fried and that because it wasn't working, they'd almost given up hope that he'd spill where Roman Reigns had ended up— but he wasn't going to say a single damn word, even if he was on the brink of death.

The Authority's most skilled torturer, the devils favourite demon, the big red monster; he didn't scare Dean. And he didn't care about the scars, the brain cells, didn't care about his physical well being. Stephanie and Hunter needed him. Wouldn't let him die for a petty game of cat and mouse.

So, he was safe. Mostly

But his blood boiled and he could picture in his mind the ways he could rip Kane apart, ripping out his spine and shoving it down his throat, or maybe instead ripping his throat out. Taking a wrench and snapping off a few fingers. Maybe he would rip the black hair out and stuff it in his mouth where some yellowed teeth used to be— but who was Kane kidding if he thought he could get out of this alive?

There was a metal spoon in his hand. It was the only kind of utensil that they'd trusted him with and he wasn't letting it go any time soon. If he had to dig Kane's non-existent spine out of his back with a blunt spoon… so be it.

He could hear the footsteps before the door opened but he didn't move, didn't shift away from the wall, twisted the spoon in his hand. When the metal door swung open, he didn't look up, kept his stare blank.

Kane kneeled before him and flicked his fingers in front of Dean's face. Once, twice. He frowned and stood back up, walked back over to the door.

Dean watched him now with cautious eyes. The man was humming some old song almost merrily as he wheeled a cart into the room. Smoke curled out of its far corner and he could barely see a butchers knife, maybe a poker. Was that what was smoking? No. That smell— that smell belonged to a cigar.

"I didn't know you smoked."

His voice seemed to startle Kane, the red monster spinning back around, sickening grin across his ugly lips. "Ah! You are with us! For a second there I thought I'd lost you."

He wanted to smirk but he didn't. "Can I?"

Kane followed the line of his finger to the cigar and picked it up, sucked in a quick breath, and then brought it over to where he was sitting.

The burn of the smoke down into his lungs had his eyes rolling back into his head and he felt more normal then than he had in weeks. Dean had always been a smoker but he hadn't in months, so something as familiar as it was deadly was soothing on his soul.

But then the cigar was gone from his fingertips.

"So you gonna torture me and then keep me away from the only good thing left in the world?"

Kane's bellowing laugh echoed around the concrete room. "Tell me where he is and you can have it back."

"Fuck you."

Hands curved around his throat and his own tightened around the metal spoon and Dean pushed back just as hard, sent them toppling over to the side and rolling onto the floor, but he was so weak and Kane was over him immediately.

Bare chest, belt digging into his hips, Dean growled and struggled with the demon. A strangled groan pushed from his mouth as pain seared across his chest, across his skin, and his eyes locked onto the burning cigar pressing into pale flesh. Kane was laughing above him. Was it funny? Was his pain funny?

The dark eyes looking down at him were confused and his face morphed from amused to mortified in the space of a second.

Dean was laughing back at him.

A scuffle of limbs had Dean on top of Kane and the metal spoon was against the demon's face, and he hadn't— hadn't _screamed_ in the way that Kane was screaming now as he dug the metal into the eye-socket. Dean was hissing, lips pulled back over his teeth, eyes glowing murderously, and then he was standing up and his left hand was dripping blood and goo and Kane was covering his face.

A cigar burn on his chest was nothing when he held Kane's right eye in the palm of his hand.

—

 _present— days since the first flood: 1496_

Meredith had been trying to smooth down his hair for the past twenty minutes.

He hadn't been able to sleep, hand't been able to shut his eyes without imagining the kind of ways Kane would torture him next. Kane— Dean hadn't seen the demon since he left the man in a pool of his own blood.

The beautiful woman behind him was leaning against the wall and his head was laid in her lap, caramel eyes staring down into his. "You didn't get much sleep."

A tired smile was his only response.

"You know—"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence, because the door burst open and people were streaming through, Meredith was screaming, screaming so loud and so hard and his ears were ringing, but she was screeching and he was yelling at them to get off of her and…

The last thing he saw before someone clubbed the back of his head were the tears flowing down Meredith's face.

* * *

 **gah i'm sorry this took me such a long time to upload, the chapter just wouldn't come and blughhh, so enjoy this update :) i have the next two written so they'll be out much quicker!**

 **to Nangel4** (Brie in this has me in major *heart eyes* all the time! glad i can keep you hooked :)!), **quinzel harley** (your reviews are like spot on! i can't promise that your babies aren't going to get hurt... in fact i won't...), **startrekfan1177** (thank you for thinking so! it makes me so happy when people say that!), **my guest** (hope you enjoyed this!), **and Nobody's Love** (i have so many AU one shot ideas its insane but i have no time to write them aahhhh! glad you like this and hope you enjoyed the update!), **thank you guys so much for reviewing! means the world that you enjoy reading this :) x**

 **much love x**


	14. Meet Your End

**Meet Your End**

Paige had never been one for subtlety.

Sure, she worked for The Authority in Vegas, but she didn't hide her disdain for them, didn't care whether they killed her or not. There was probably no chance she would ever get to see her family again and so there was no reason for her to try and protect her life.

The sex was good and the booze was good and the cigarettes were good and that was all that mattered.

Almost.

Until she saw the way that the fighter and The Authority's golden boy had stared at each other.

It was plain as day that they were hiding something. There was supposed to be some kind of tension but with the way that napkin had been sneakily delivered, she knew there was more to that story. Seth? Was his name Seth? He'd paid her good money to keep it on the down low, and now that she'd had just a whiff of something more exciting than working for the highest bidder— it was like a drug. She wanted more.

So maybe that was why she stood outside of where she knew he went to the gym. Of course, she was in some exercise gear— to blend in, she had to look the part.

The man didn't seem to notice her as he walked out, instead took the time to gaze up into the light grey sky and sighed, ran his fingers through sweaty half-blonde half-brown hair.

"You selling out?"

He didn't jump at the sound of her voice, just turned his head slightly to gaze over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"

Paige snorted. "Oh, please. Don't play dumb with me, you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Seth now turned and studied her curiously, eyes raking over her body. "Can I help you?"

"Actually… I think that I can help _you_."

It was his turn to snort at her. "You can help me?"

"We have a common… _adversary_ , I guess you could say. And you can help me by letting me help you," Paige tried to explain as subtly as she could.

His face didn't betray him, but his deep brown eyes certainly did— he was staring at her with caution, with apprehension, and really, she couldn't blame him. Being a two-timer must've been hard work, but he caught onto her insinuations pretty quickly and wrapped his fingers around her arm, dragged her with him around to the side of the building and next to a loud air conditioning unit.

"What do you think you're playing at, huh?"

She laughed at him. "I'm not playing at anything and I'm _definitely_ not stupid enough to miss what you really are. So I'm offering to help. Anything that you need, I can help with. They don't care about me, I'm expendable— it means I can get out. Fat chance that I'm lettin' you walk into the fiery pits of hell alone… I've heard that Satan's one hot motherfucker and I'm not missing my chance."

Paige didn't want to die, per say… she just wanted to _live_. Live fast die young, right? That was the dream, anyway.

—

The first thing he noticed when he stumbled into some form of consciousness was that his arms were strung out either side of his body, his legs as well. Spread eagled, vulnerable. The metal bit into his skin as it held his body weight, no cushioning, no padding, just rusted, old metal.

Eyelids almost glued together, Dean managed to slide one open. He rolled his head back against the metal and groaned loudly when he realised what exactly he was on.

It was a steel bed frame, hanging on hinges that could have him upright one second and staring at the roof the next. It was a torture frame. _Kane's_ torture frame. The same red monster that had tortured him while they searched for Roman the first time, the same red monster that had screamed in pain when Dean had gouged his eye out all those months ago.

"Good, you're awake."

His eyes slid back shut at the sound of the feminine voice, suddenly realising exactly why he was here. He remembered seeing Roman, the flash of his pale eyes standing out against the tan in his skin. Remembered Seth's warning.

"As you're probably well aware of by now, Dean, Roman Reigns is alive," Stephanie drawled as she stepped in front of him. He watched through half-lidded eyes as she dragged a fingertip along the strapping on his chest, the same strapping that was keeping his shoulder in place. "The reason _you're_ in here is because you know him. You _know_ where Roman Reigns feels safe, where his sanctuary is."

Dean's face didn't give anything away.

"Anyone who knows anything knows what you are, Dean; you're unbreakable, the master of secrets," she continued. "By this time tomorrow, I expect to know where he is. In the mean time? Enjoy your stay."

Letting his head roll back into the bars again, he listened to the woman walk out. And then there was another set of footsteps; ones which didn't belong to Triple H, Sister Abigail, or even Seth.

The deep rumbling of his voice was enough to rouse Dean, enough for him to slide his tired eyes back open. "I'd promise to make this as least painful as possible," Kane said slowly, tilting his head to smirk, "but you owe me an eye."

"Eye for an eye, huh?" Dean managed to push out, chuckling with how the use of his voice scratched the back of his throat harshly.

"Something like that." A pause. Then, "Feel free to scream."

The first round of electricity that surged through him was an incredible burst of pain. His muscles contracted rapidly, body arching off the metal post, his loud groan ringing through the room, and for the longest second Dean thought he was going to pass out. But just as quick as it had started, the electrical charge stopped and he slumped against the restraints.

Kane stepped towards him. "Stephanie may believe that my ways of… _persuasion_ are effective against you. But you and I both know that whatever I do wont work. So until she decides that she's sick of waiting, I guess I'll just have some fun."

The second charge wasn't much easier— in fact, Kane let it surge through him until he was hanging unconscious against the metal cuffs enclosing his wrist.

He spluttered awake with a gasping breath, slate blue eyes darting around desperately. The empty bucket of ice-water that Kane had just dumped over his head was slung back against the wall and the red monster laughed as Dean's body reacted accordingly; he started shivering, shaking, sucking in breath after breath, but the pain was suddenly too much for him again as he sagged forward.

Kane's open palm hit the side of his face repeatedly. "C'mon, Ambrose, you can't be giving in yet."

Another loud gasp for breath echoed around the room and slowly his eyes opened. Kane was in front of him, smiling psychotically, rubbing his hands together like he'd only just gotten started.

Then the red monster was walking back around to the box and his face twisted into a smile as he turned the electricity back on.

Dean's screams of agony rebounded off the concrete walls, face contorting as his body tried to arch off the metal. The electricity powered through his muscles, and in the back of Dean's mind he could taste copper in his mouth, registered it, but didn't know he'd bit his tongue until Kane flicked the switch and the charge stopped.

He slumped against the restraints once more, head lolling forwards. Drenched hair covered half of his face and there was blood trickling down his lip but underneath the sweat he was still murmuring.

Kane turned his head. His eyes latched onto the ex-Shield member. "What did you just say?"

"I'm sorry," Dean managed to push out, his voice stumbling over shaking breaths.

"You're gonna have to say that again."

Maybe he couldn't hear him or maybe he couldn't believe what exactly he _was_ hearing. Dean laughed finally, his head rolling back against the metal bars, tired eyes latching onto Kane's, and when he spoke, it was louder, clearer. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

The only eye that Kane had left stared at him incredulously. And the smirk across Dean's pale lips deepened. "I'm sorry I didn't cut out your other eye while I had a chance," he spat out, "and if I'd known you'd be grilling me to death, I would've taken your hands too." Jaw jutting out defiantly, head slightly raised, Dean continued. "Go on, turn it up— that last one was beginning to tickle."

Kane's fist buried itself into his gut almost instantaneously, the demon hissing down Dean's neck. "I'm going to enjoy killing you."

His strangled attempt to pull breath back into his body was close to pathetic but rang around the room loudly. At this, Kane was laughing again.

But before he could go through any more pain, the metal door to Kane's torture cell swung open, Stephanie standing underneath the threshold. Her eyes flashed in excitement as she saw his sweat drenched and shaking body, his obvious pain, and he knew right away that what she was planning would have him on his knees.

"Kane," she said, "I have a better idea. Undo the restraints. We're going to pay his favourite person a visit."

And finally the metal around his wrists disappeared as Kane obediently followed Stephanie's order. He gripped onto the metal bars as well as he could but as soon as the clasps around his ankles were gone, Dean fell to the floor.

Like a rag-doll, like a limp puppet, but still strong enough to withstand whatever they were about to throw at him. In the back of his mind he could hear words Triple H had once said to him, _I'm going to end you_ , but that had been four years ago and he was still beating the man at his own game.

His entire body was tingling in pain, but he was laughing.

Above him, he could hear Kane say "crazy son of a bitch."

And, well, _that_ was true.

But as Kane effortlessly lifted his limp body and dragged him out of the cell, Stephanie's words echoed through his mind; _paying his favourite person a visit?_

Were they taking him to see Meredith? What had they done to her once they'd taken him? Had they hurt her? Had she not been able to get out, like he'd told her to?

Carelessly thrown, Dean landed on the cold concrete floor of another room. _Stay awake stay awake stay awake_ , he slapped the ground, then his head, trying desperately to get a hold of his mind. The shocks had fizzled whatever else was left of his conscious brain and black spots were spinning around his vision like white noise as he tried to curl his body into a ball. His stomach ached and the strapping around his shoulder and chest was pulling uncomfortably, belt keeping the jeans around his waist digging into the skin on his hips.

Something snapped underneath his nose and he breathed the scent of ammonia, the strong and pungent smell sending his stomach curling uncontrollably and he shot up into a sitting position.

He glanced over his shoulder when he felt the legs against his back and Seth was staring down at him, face pulling into an emotionless mask.

"You need to stay awake for this, Dean," Stephanie cooed at him, lips curving. The woman was crouched in front of Dean, covered the snapped ammonia tablet with a cloth. "You might not be breakable, but I happen to know someone we _haven't_ tested yet."

Dean heard her screams before he saw her, knew that she'd be putting up one hell of a fight, but he pushed onto his sore arms anyway and crawled towards the exit. He had to... he had to get to her, to save her, to just get her away from here.

"Seth."

There was a knee in his back forcing his stomach against the ground and Stephanie crouched in front of him again, fisted her hand through his sweat drenched hair. He was hyper aware of the pain echoing through his bones, but it seemed Seth was as well — the grip around his arms was much lighter and much softer than it should have been.

"You see, Dean, I _always_ get what I want."

As soon as the words toppled out of Stephanie's mouth, the demon who called himself Kane walked through the door, his arms wrapped tight around Meredith's body and constricting her movements.

There was a sound at the back of his throat and he shifted, tried to get closer to her.

And when Stephanie looked back at him, his slate eyes gave away everything his silence didn't; she had him, hook, line and sinker.

* * *

 **so since the other update took like two weeks, i'm putting this up now as an apology... i REALLY enjoyed writing Paige's POV, something again a bit different to what i'm used to!**

 **to my wonderful reviewers Nangel4 (** writing the escape is going to be so fun *heart eyes* glad i have you hooked hehe! **), next-to-nerdy (** aw shucks you're making me blush! everything's going wrong, but it's the storm after the calm... or maybe its the storm before the calm before another storm? who knows! **), and quinzel harley (** hehe sorry! what alone time *shady glancing* nooo don't cry! also we both know that i have no mercy.. oh well! enjoy my love! **), thank you so much for the kind words and i hope you guys enjoyed this!**

 **until next time xx**


	15. Things Much Worse Than Death

**Things Much Worse Than Death**

"Dean!" Meredith screamed, her eyes wide, full of confusion and fear and hurt, and he could see the way her face contorted when she saw his state. "Dean?! _Dean!_ "

But even if the woman wanted to do anything, the arms around her waist, the ones that kept her against a large chest… they looked like they were almost squeezing the life out of her. Kane was going to kill her.

Stephanie's laughter was like venom flowing through his veins and her manicured hands in his hair gripped tighter, harsher, levelled his face with hers even with the knee in his back. "You see what happens, Dean?" She cackled again, shifted her gaze to the helpless mechanic. "When you start abusing our relationship, we'll take everything that makes you think you're something worthwhile. You're not worth it, you're not worth her pain, you're useless and pathetic and the only thing _you're_ good at doing is fighting, and even _then_ you still can't behave when you need to!"

He bit down on his trembling lip, felt the colour drain from his face. He was going to pass out. "This has nothing to do with her," he managed to spit.

"Oh, but you're right!" Her hand was gone from his hair as she pushed to her feet, and then she turned to the man that was holding him down. "Make sure he sees this, I want him to watch _everything_."

His brother, his friend, his only connection that could make working for these people tolerable lifted his knee away. But only for a second. In the next, Dean was sitting on his ass, Seth's knee once more against his spine, hand corkscrewing his arm behind his back and the other wrapped loosely around his neck.

With his knee out at an awkward angle and Seth positioning his face upwards, Dean could do nothing _but_ watch.

"You're completely right, Dean, this has got _nothing_ to do with Meredith Waters. But it has everything to do with _you_ and for some unfathomable reason… you've grown _attached_ to her!"

Meredith whimpered as Stephanie drew a sharpened nail down her cheek and tilted her head to look at the petrified mechanic. Her honey brown eyes were wide, darting between where he was sitting and the woman that looked ready to terrorise her.

"You _will_ tell me where Roman Reigns is, Dean," she warned, "or I will drag a knife across that perfect skin and chop her pretty little fingers off, one by one. So help me God, I will _torture_ this innocent woman until you _give me what I want!_ "

There was another sound at the back of Dean's throat and he felt Rollins slowly loosen his grip so that he wasn't in that much pain, but before he had a chance to do anything, Meredith's silken voice rang out in the room.

"Dean…?"

"Oh, look! She thinks that you're actually going to save her!" Stephanie cackled, threw her head back as she walked towards a trolley that was on the far wall.

"Dean, look at me."

When he raised his slate blue eyes to hers again, she was smiling softly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't do it, don't tell them. It's okay, Dean, alright? I'm a lot stronger than they—"

Stephanie's laugh ruined her sentence. "Oh, sweetheart, you'll be screaming for death by the time I'm through with you."

Meredith lifted steely brown eyes to the woman across the room, her face set like stone even with the tears, bared her teeth aggressively. "When I get out of here— and I _will_ — _you_ won't be screaming for death. You'll just be dead."

How could she do it? Even when she was so scared, so afraid, how could she show such strength? Dean stared at Meredith like he was seeing her again for the first time.

Lowly, so low that he could barely even hear it, the man behind him muttered "chose good."

 _Damn fucking right, he chose good._

But the inch of pride he felt for the woman he loved quickly dissipated back into horror as Stephanie turned back around with a scalpel and a needle in either hand. He watched, silent, as Stephanie walked over to Meredith and tied a tourniquet around her upper arm. He watched, silent, as Stephanie slapped Meredith's arm until a vein began to pop. And he watched, silent, as the witch injected a drug into Meredith's bloodstream.

The mechanic let out a low hiss and thrashed in the Kane's arms, let go of an almighty yell.

When Stephanie turned back around to look at Dean, her smug face pulled at something deep inside of him. This wasn't going to end well. "The drug that I just pushed into her system was a Sister Abigail special."

His blood turned to ice.

"Personally, I've never used it on anyone before. But from what she told me, it doubles the amount of pain your nociceptors receive, something about manipulation of the nerves. So I can pin prick Meredith and she'll be screaming for _hours_. Effective, don't you think?"

Meredith thrashed again, her fight not going anywhere. The colour was still drained from his body and his lips were turned down, sweat heavy on his pained face, hair dangling across his forehead.

The woman focused her attention back onto the task at hand and looked at the man holding Meredith. "Kane, if you would please…"

She trailed off suggestively and Kane obeyed, ripped the singlet from the mechanic's body effortlessly and then strung her arms out wide, quivering chest and stomach now on display.

Dean lurched forward against Seth's arm, growl tearing from his throat, but he couldn't do a thing.

Instead, his eyes caught every emotion on Meredith's face, caught her eyes sliding up to look at the roof and then screwing shut in anticipation, her mouth set in a thin line.

"I'm not feeling like humiliating you today, Meredith," Stephanie murmured lowly, "so we'll leave the bra on for both of our sakes. Not that you have much to offer."

"At least mine are real."

Behind him, Seth suppressed a chuckle; in front of him, Stephanie suppressed a yell of anger.

She lashed out with the blade and drew the sharpened edge against Meredith's cheek. But apart from a slight flinch, not a _sound_ came from the woman before them. Dean could almost hear Stephanie wondering why the drug hadn't worked and he almost wondered the same, but then he saw the drops of blood falling from her fist. And he realised with a start that she was inflicting pain on purpose. She was controlling her reaction by distracting herself. She was controlling her reaction by physically digging her nails into her own skin.

Again, Stephanie flung her arm out and this time the blade sliced across the top of her left breast. And still no reaction.

"Maybe it doesn't work after all," Stephanie mused to herself, but then it was like she stopped mid thought and her head slowly tilted to the side. She glanced at Dean with a vicious smirk.

And with no hesitation, she traced the scalpel over the open wound on Meredith's chest and then yanked the edge to the left, ripping the wound open further, and his whole body almost fell in on itself when Meredith let out an ear shattering scream.

Stephanie looked like she hit the jackpot. "There we go!"

Dean groaned loudly and pushed his weight forwards, frown creasing his face, but it was no use.

"Now, Dean, let me ask again," Stephanie drawled as she turned around, alligator eyes grinning. "Tell me where Roman Reigns is. Tell me where he's hiding, _tell me where they are!_ "

And again before he could say a word, Meredith spoke. "Don't… you… _fucking_ … dare…" her voice shook with effort and pain as she tried to control her breathing.

"Smart tongue, Meredith, why don't I cut it out?"

The woman rocked forwards and grabbed Meredith's face, forcibly pulling open her mouth, and from where he was Dean lurched forward with a guttural scream of " ** _I'll fucking kill you!_** "

But the blade was already inside Meredith's mouth and the mechanic was whimpering, shaking, anticipating the pain, her smooth stomach quivering with each breath, shoulders rising and falling harshly.

" _Tell me where they are, Dean!_ "

Not a word fell from his mouth.

He didn't have to say a thing.

The door behind him flew open and Hunter walked through the threshold, eyes taking in the scene with a disgruntled expression. "Stephanie…" he said lowly.

"What?!" She snapped back at him. "I'm busy, if you can't see that!"

He eyed the scalpel inside Meredith's open mouth, the two cuts on her body, the sweat dripping from her almost naked torso. He made a sound of indifference. "It's the beast. He's gone missing."

The blade was gone instantly, the torturess swearing a storm as she walked over to the trolley and disposed of her toy, angry ice blue eyes locking on Seth and then the giant on the other side of the room. "Leave them. They need time to understand that I will _kill_ them before I give up."

Gracelessly Meredith was tossed into the corner, her shout of pain ringing sharp, and then he was dropped to the ground just as quickly. The three left the room, but not before Seth turned around and quickly threw his shirt at his brother, apologetic eyes heavy as he shut and dead-bolted the door.

Dean had never moved so quick in his life. He was crouching over her instantly, pulling her body against his as her weak arms tried to return the hug.

"Mer, Meredith," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I'm so sorry, I—"

She pressed a soft hand against his lips and he felt a warmth smudge across his chin and then he remembered the blood that had been dripping from her fists.

He made quick to lean her quivering body up against the wall and rip apart Seth's shirt, tying the broken material strips tight around her injured hands. Meredith hissed in pain and let her head fall back against the wall and when Dean was done, he used the rest of the shirt to try and soak up the blood seeping from the cut on her chest as well as the one on her cheek.

And when he was finished, he lifted her into his capable arms and flung himself into a corner, pulling her back against him so he could nuzzle into her hair. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Her head lay in the nook of his neck and shoulder, eyelashes tickling his skin as she tried to keep her eyes open. "I told you I could take it…"

"It's not about taking it, Mer, she would have fucking cut your tongue out—"

"But she didn't. And she won't kill me."

"There are things much worse than death, believe me. I'm so stupid, I know _exactly_ where they are—"

"Not a single fucking word, you hear me?" Meredith found the strength to lift her head, gazed at him with hard brown eyes. "I'm not worth it. I'm not worth their capture, I'm not worth their homes being destroyed. You and I both know it."

"Meredith—"

" _No_ , Dean."

He stared at her with agonised eyes, tears pooling. "I won't let them take you from me."

"They'll never have me," she whispered, lips falling against his neck as her head crashed back into his body. "They'll _never_ have me."

Dean didn't know how long he cradled her against his chest, didn't know how long he tried to hold his eyes open or hold his tears back, but when he refocused back on the room, there was a bald head sticking into the chamber they were in.

Was that… Joey Mercury?

But didn't he work for The Authority?

"You!" he hissed quietly, "run!"

And as soon as he was there he was gone. But the door was still open. _Run?_ Was this a trap?

His options were simple; stay and watch Meredith's merciless torture, or run, even if it _was_ a trap. At least with running they had the chance of finding a way out on their own terms.

Without any further thought, Dean found the strength to push his battered body to his feet, leant on the wall for support for a couple of minutes, and then quietly murmured Meredith's name. When she stirred, he shifted her body around so that she was clinging to his back. The drug and the pain were almost threatening to push her into unconsciousness and Dean knew this, but he also knew that she had to channel as much energy as she could into just staying awake.

He checked the corridors once, twice, the floor. Frowned when he saw the ear piece on the ground. But then he recognised it — it was one that The Authority's security _exclusively_ used. The same security that Joey Mercury ran.

Was his saviour on the other end?

* * *

 **to my wonderful reviewers quinzel harley** (paige is definitely bae! NO MERCY! what mercy i have none but some people want to give me some *sings in the tune of 'i'm broke, no joke') **and Nangel4** (it makes me so happy that you've seen this story evolve and that you've been here from the beginning! love it! hope you enjoyed this!) **, love you guys so much!**

 **enjoy my loves xx**


	16. The Tunnels

**The Tunnels**

The beast, the same beast that had been hired to kill Roman Reigns, the same beast that had supposedly disappeared stood in front of Stephanie McMahon.

"Hunter?"

The woman was _beyond_ mad. Her husband— he'd taken her away from her prizes, away from her fun and her games and her tools and all for _what?_ The beast wasn't _gone_! The beast was in _front of her!_

So Stephanie's lips pulled a little bit in a humourless smirk, eyes darting between her husband and the beast. "Hunter, why would you tell me that he's gone missing if he's right here?"

"You may be the most efficient at getting information out of our prisoners, but Steph— we both know that Ambrose was never going to give up Roman Reigns, he was never going to talk no matter what you said or what you did. So why not give them the chance to escape? To lead us right to Roman Reigns?" Hunter Helmsley was laughing then, brown eyes crinkling in a smile. "I'm the cerebral assassin, honey… just trust me."

Stephanie nodded her head. _Okay_. Okay, if he thought he could do it, then that was up to him. But that didn't reassure her to the fact that the beast was standing before her, his charge off to the side of the room. "And Lesnar? Heyman? What are they doing here?"

"What are we doing here?" Heyman laughed, glanced up at the roof to show off his slimy looking neck. "Mr Helmsley, if you would… allow _me_ to explain as to why we're standing in the same room as you. My client Brock Lesnar has a very peculiar skill set. He can track the slightest trail, he can kill the largest animal as he's already showcased with that— that _thing_ called Batista. But Roman Reigns' survival is not something you can pin on my client." The beast, Lesnar, sniffed in a breath and levelled his eyes with Hunter. "You told him to take care of Roman Reigns. He _took care_ of Roman Reigns. You didn't _mention_ that you wanted Mr Reigns _dead_ , so he's not _dead_. You want Mr Reigns dead, do you not?"

Raising his chin, Hunter nodded. "I want his head on a pike."

"Leave the rest to us, then."

The two men left Hunter's office, but Stephanie turned to her husband with eyes like ice. "I don't trust them."

He just smirked at her.

—

"What are we even doing here?"

Roman and Brie were moving through a network of tunnels under Vegas, ones that had been used mostly for sewerage, ones that barely fit them, but it was a guaranteed way to stay hidden from prying eyes.

"The last place they're going to look for us is in their own home," Brie replied easily. Her nose scrunched in disgust as she waded her way through calf-high water, the smell absolutely horrible. And more to herself than to Roman, the next words out of her mouth were "how long does this thing go for…"

Roman pursed his lips and turned his own nose. His hand was pressed against a slimy wall and all he really wanted to do was have a _long_ shower. "Who gave you this intel, anyway?"

At that, Brie smirked. "I did."

" _You_ did?"

"When Nikki and I were running that gym," she started, "Daniel and I couldn't really meet in broad daylight, y'know? He was hiding from The Authority and I was working for them, but we… we fell in love, anyway. And I'd use these tunnels to come see him after the gym closed and we'd spend hours just roaming around outside of the city… but that was a _long_ time ago, and my memory is a bit rusty. I _think_ I know where most of these finish."

Roman cracked his own smirk at that and glanced over his shoulder, pale grey on deep brown. "That's reassuring."

But both of them paused when they heard the swishing of sewer water ahead of them, the soft mutterings that sounded like someone talking to themselves.

Brie stepped in front of the Samoan and raised the silver handgun.

—

Paige had laughed at him, said "I'm not playing at anything and I'm _definitely_ not stupid enough to miss what you really are. So I'm offering to help. Anything that you need, I can help with. They don't care about me, I'm expendable— it means I can get out. Fat chance that I'm lettin' you walk into the fiery pits of hell alone… I've heard that Satan's one hot motherfucker and I'm not missing my chance."

Seth's reply had been along the lines of "do you _want_ to die?"

For someone who called himself the 'architect', he was _incredibly_ obtuse.

No, she didn't want to die. Not yet, anyway. Going out in a blaze of glory helping the stud of a man was more her thing.

Because he was— he _was_ one hell of a good looking guy. The curly blonde and brown hair, the chocolate eyes, the body… Paige sucked in a deep breath at the memory of it and found her lips pulling up. _That_ was definitely going on her bucket-list.

And Seth had sent her on her way with some reassuring comments; _keep your God damned mouth shut and for the love of God, don't get caught_.

He liked her already.

But then, here she was. And when she'd said that she wanted more of this undercover work, more adrenaline, she _did_ mean it. But walking in a _fucking sewer? So_ not what she'd had in mind.

"For fucks sake," Paige breathed to herself.

In the next second, something had shifted against her leg and her stomach was in her throat, skin crawling, and the words that came out were along the lines of _what the fucking fuck_. She put a hand up in front of her chest, took a deep breath, jumped forwards a few steps. Then kept moving. Paige was almost halfway done mapping out the tunnels and she wasn't about to stop now, even if there were rats. _Ew_.

"Fucking send me down into the _sewers_ , of _all_ places," she continued, and then her voice raised an octave in an attempt to imitate Rollins, " _don't get caught_ , he said, _just go down into the sewers and make sure that they're not patrolled,_ he said. I'll tell you what's not patrolled, you fuck."

A long butchers knife slapped against her ripped skinnies, _knew_ that her Doc Martins were going to smell for the rest of her life. But so help her God, if she had to spend one more day behind the oval bar with that _fuck_ of a boss, she would neck herself.

God, if only her mother could see her now— swearing like a sailor, all goth looking with a stretcher in her ear and heavy black eyeshadow… Paige laughed at the thought.

"Stop right there."

Granted, Paige did freeze.

But when she glanced up at the silver handgun pointed right at her head and the two intimidating people standing right in front of her, her hands immediately flew up to cover her face and she fell into a crouch, showed her back, yelled " _oh my God_ , wait! _Wait!_ I can _explain!_ "

There was a moment of silence and the pale Brit glanced back over her shoulder, wide eyes staring at the woman with the gun. And then the giant of man behind her.

"Wait—" Paige slowly put her hands out and raised slowly, trying to look as innocent as possible. "You're— you're Roman Reigns, aren't you?"

Even in the dark tunnels, she could see his eyes flash.

"Oh my God, you are…" she was laughing now as she put a hand over her pounding heart. "Oh my God, you scared me! You— you and Seth and Dean—"

The woman holding the gun flicked the safety off. "Shut your mouth right now or I'll blow your kneecaps out."

Paige's arms were back up. "You don't have to worry, _Princess Xena_ , there are no cameras or bugs in here. Stephanie is too grossed out by the thought of people moving through here that she hasn't even bothered. I mean, I guess since you guys are here it means that there are no patrols, right? You haven't come across any guards? Or anyone apart from li'l ol' me?"

Again, the woman shifted her eyes from Paige to the area behind her, and then she lowered the weapon and shoved it into the back of her jeans. "No one."

" _Great_ ," Paige said with a look of relief, "I don't have to fuckin' walk this anymore. C'mon, the exit's this way."

When she started walking and didn't hear the two following her, the Brit turned back around, fixed them both with a questioning gaze. "You comin'?"

"Who are you?"

It was the Samoan.

"Oohh," Paige drew out, "that's right, you don't know me, do you?" She laughed again. "That's not awkward at all, me knowing the traitors name but not telling you who I am or why I'm helping you… I get it. I get it, I do."

The pale woman walked towards the two and thrust her hand out into the space between them for a handshake, grinning as they stared at her incredulously. "I'm Paige. I work— well, I used to work for Del Rio, at that _Red House_ burlesque place in the centre of Vegas. Until today, I guess. I've jumped ships, I guess you could say, because if I had to work under him or Stephanie for any longer, I would have _literally_ killed myself. But… I guess you could say that it's Rollins' fault I'm down here. I mean, that _fuck_ would have done it himself at some point, but I came in handy so—"

"Rollins?" the man spoke again, this time stepping out from behind the woman in front of him. "As in Seth Rollins?"

"Is there any other?" Paige was serious now as she glanced over their shoulders, over hers. "Look, I know you have no reason to trust me right now, but I know a couple of tunnels separate from these that are dry and clean and just as well hidden." She glanced back at the woman with the silver handgun. "If it makes you feel any better, you can point that thing at me the whole time."

She looked tempted if nothing else, but Roman spoke before she could. "We'll take our chances… if you're good enough for Seth, you're good enough for us."

"Alright, let's go."

* * *

 **this is so shooorrttttt im sorry but it's been really hot the past couple of days and i get so lethargic and lazy when it's hot, i can't think**

 **to my wonderful reviewers, quinzel harley** (we need some form of relief in a horrible situation, so their embrace was what i went to! glad you enjoyed hun!) **, Nangel4** (Stephanie is like the most evil in this thing... also, cliffhangers are so infuriating but so fun to write!), **irishfan62** (thank you! don't know how many more people i'm going to involve, we'll see as we go! pretty much have all my mains at the moment, so if i do involve more, they'll only be passing comments!), **and next-to-nerdy** (aaaah! thankyou! so much hope, so many dreams to destroy... i joke- kinda. anyway, hope you enjoyed!), **thank you so much for your kind words, hope you enjoyed this little update :)**


	17. Running (But I Lost It All)

**Running (But I Lost It All)**

This woman leading them… she was something else. Mouth going non-stop, filling the silence with her voice just for the sake of noise— _that_ kind of person.

"How much further to go?" Brie asked lowly. "I don't ever remember coming this way—"

"Not far now, gun lady," was Paige's response, and if Roman was being honest? He cracked a grin at that. _Gun lady_.

It was a name that fit the Mexican woman like a glove.

"My name is Brie," his friend offered softly, "I mean, you can call me what you want, but… I thought you might as well know my name."

"I'm Paige. But— I already said that… so _just_ in case you've forgotten or anything. Yeah."

Like Roman had thought; this woman helping them was something else. Socially awkward wasn't the word for it, no. She just didn't have a filter from her brain to her mouth, blurted out exactly what she thought without really considering the outcome.

The tunnel reverted back to it's almost silent state as the three trudged forwards, sloshing water and an occasional rat squeal every now and then… even he was squeamish at that noise. The walls around them were covered in a damp mold-like substance and it was hot and his pants were going to be covered in moss and disgusting sewerage when he did get out, yet the one thing on his mind, the one thing always on his mind now was finding that hot shower.

But all his attention shifted to the sound of a crackling radio in front of them. Paige slowed to a stop and fingered the butchers knife resting on her thigh, glanced back to them. "You bring anyone else with you?"

"Just us," Roman breathed.

He watched cautiously Brie slipped the silver handgun from the waistband of her jeans and inched forwards.

The twists and the turns in the tunnel they were in had them standing at a slight veer, and though there wasn't a lot of coverage, he still reached forwards and curled his fingers around Paige's wrist, dragged her slowly back to where he was standing.

"…these sections were cleared out years ago, must've been a false alarm or something. You sure there's no one down there with you?"

A beep, then a voice much closer to them saying "no one, Barrett. All clear down here, I'll make my way back upstairs after I've been through the rest of them. I'm out."

The radio cackled and silence flooded the tunnels again.

Then a light was shining in their direction and Brie stepped into the man's focus.

" _Hey!_ You're don't have the authority—"

There was a bullet shaped hole in his head before he could say anything else, and they all watched him collapse into the slush stoically. The sound of the shot was reverberating though his head but then so was another voice— and that was when he realised Paige was screaming.

" _OH MY GOD! YOU JUST KILLED SOMEONE!_ '

His hand was covering her mouth immediately but she was clawing at his skin trying to pry him off. "No, no, shut up," he hissed at her, "keep your mouth shut or they'll send more people down here, y'hear me?"

She was staring up at him with wide, scared eyes. But then she nodded slowly. And thank the heavens when he took his hand away, not a noise came from her mouth.

All three of them sidestepped the fallen guard, and Brie and Roman shared a knowing look with each other— they needed to get out and fast before the person he was talking to came looking for him and raised the alarm that someone had infiltrated the city. Because no one got in or out without Stephanie and Hunter's permission.

It seemed much longer than it probably was, but soon enough, Roman was breathing in the fresh air and he'd never been so happy to see the grey sky.

But then he looked around.

And it was like a wave crashing over him. The faces, the blood, the rage, the people he'd mercilessly slaughtered in retaliation of Hunter killing his wife, the devastation that had sunk itself into his heart slowly beginning to take over him again.

A hand at his shoulder, calming words in his ear. "I don't know what you're going through Roman, I've never had it affect me the way it's done to you, but those men had done horrible things both before and after the flood and they deserved everything they got, they deserved it all, and you can't hold it against yourself with the way her death made you react, okay? Hunter knew, he knew exactly what he was doing when he made the call, but you need to be stronger than that, stronger than him, alright? I know you, Roman, you're _stronger_ than this."

He wanted to believe her so bad, he wanted to be able to see it the way she did, but he just… he would never be able to. It was his burden.

Slowly he refocused on what was in front of him. Paige was watching their exchange with curious eyes, but she'd stood too far away to hear anything Brie had whispered to him. And when he gazed past her and to the old pick up truck, his eyes narrowed.

Brie followed his line of sight. "Hang on— where are we going?"

"You heard of the first flooded town?"

"California?"

"The one and only." Paige reached into the pockets of her jeans and flung a set of keys out, wriggled her eyebrows at them. "Get in."

 _California?_ "Thought Cali was completely submerged after the floods," Roman said lowly.

Paige just smirked at him. "I guess we'll find out when we get there, huh?" Then, even more reassuringly, she turned to the best of a car with a slight tug between her brows. "Never did get my license… can't be that hard, right?"

—

They weren't gonna make it, they weren't gonna get there, he wasn't going to save her and she would die in his arms and everything was just going to explode and his head would be next _if he didn't fucking use his brain_.

There were sirens and flashing lights and the entire compound was swarming with people who had guns, and Dean had to push himself inside a room where there was no light, his laboured breathing all he could hear because the _stupid_ ear-piece half lodged into his ear _wasn't fucking making any noise_ , and Dean didn't know whether he could do this, he didn't know whether he could save himself let alone Meredith. He'd placed her softly on the ground and had stood, ran his fingers through his now unruly hair and across his day old stubble and every _fibre_ in his body was standing on end and all he wanted to do was scream, but _no_. _No_. He would _not_ let them win like this.

 _Fuck_ , his brain was fuzzy.

 _Stupid fucking demon from hell._

He was crouching at the wall then, kneeling, pressing his fingers into his temples and resting the top of his head against the concrete. " _Fuck_ ," he spat to himself.

There was a crackling sound in his left ear and Dean shot into a standing position too quickly, his head spinning, but there was a voice talking to him, saying "Do you copy? Ambrose, _do you copy?_ "

"I copy— I copy."

"This connection will only hold as long as you're in this compound, you hear me? So the _second_ you get into those tunnels, this dies," Joey Mercury was saying, "Now listen to me. Ambrose, you still there?"

Dean was nodding his head but then realised Mercury couldn't see him, so he muttered a quick "yeah" and the man on the other end sighed in relief.

"Good, good. Listen to me, okay? I can guide you through these halls and tell you which rooms are free, but you can't just wing this, you have to _listen_ to what I tell you—"

He stopped listening when the door to the room they were in flung open and then the lights flushed on, Sister Abigail standing before him with wide eyes and a vial in her hand. Dean didn't even think. He launched forwards and curled his fingers around her pale throat, shoved her back into the door to slam it shut once more, and she was clawing at his wrists and her mouth was wide open, gasping for air.

"Not a fucking noise," Dean hissed to her, "not a squeak, y'hear me, you witch?"

Somehow the blonde was nodding and his hands were rough as he grabbed her shoulders and spun her against the door, dragging them over her clothes and the curves of her body until his fingers were gripping at plastic and metal and he backed away with the new weapons in his hands, slate blues suddenly full of life.

Sister Abigail had both of her hands up. She turned slowly and was looking at him with big, baby blue eyes, eyes that screamed for mercy, eyes that knew everything without even having to look.

"Listen to me, Dean, you don't want to do this, okay? Bray will kill you if you touch me—" pleaded Abigail, "I can help you— I know the drug Stephanie put into her system and I know how to get her back into a compass state, I know—"

Dean lifted his chin and levelled the taser at her chest. "The all knowin' Abigail, right?" he laughed, shook his head. "No, you don't know everythin' or you wouldn't'a come in here, huh? Fix her. _Now_."

The man in his ear was asking questions but Dean wasn't listening, only watched Abigail as she went to work.

The room they were in was nothing special but Abigail's coat was, holding what seemed like hundreds of her tiny vials and those needles that she always liked to carry, and he looked on as she drew the liquid of a vial into the needle in her hand and then Dean stepped forwards, pressed the taser against the woman's neck, glared as her entire body tensed. "If you kill her, death will be a daydream."

As much as he hoped his threat had worked, his blood turned to ice when she placed the needle at a thigh and pushed the clear medicine into Meredith's limp body.

"It's adrenaline," Sister Abigail explained as she backed away, pressing her body against the door again. "It should work pretty much straight away."

Almost as soon as the woman had said that, Meredith was lurching upright and gasping for breath, Dean falling right to his knees and holding her face in his hands, gazing into her amber eyes, trying to calm her down as best as he could.

But the words she spoke next had the colour draining from his body.

"Who— who are you?"

Like a slap right to his face, a kick to his gut, Meredith tore his heart straight from his chest without even meaning to. The curve of his mouth dropped and he put some space between their bodies immediately and he felt sick, so sick to his gut, so sick that he wanted to just pass out— but Abigail…

Dean was back on his feet and his hands back around Abigail's neck, constricting the breath in her lungs. His teeth were bared and he watched the veins pop, the pathetic pats of her hands against his arms, eyes begging for air.

He screamed when he let the pressure ease up.

Because he couldn't kill her. The only way Meredith would get her memory back was if Abigail helped them.

Dragging in a long breath, Dean ran a hand down his face, took a few seconds to regain himself, to try and figure out a plan. He pressed his thumb against the ear piece. "You might want to hold off on your plan— we have a bit of a problem."

* * *

 **oops (i promise there's some lighter times ahead)**

 **to my wonderful reviewers Nangel4** (Paige in this is my comedy relief, so we gotta keep her! Is Brock really after Roman, though? I mean, Paul Heyman is a slippery guy... and for Dean and Mer, well... yeah, I'm not so nice with them, am I? it was horribly hot and we have no AC, so i would definitely have preferred rainy and windy!) **, quinzel harley** (definitely wasn't happy with the last chapter, but we all have those one or two that just shit you to tears, right? and yeah, that would've definitely worked better! glad you liked it, hope you enjoy this one!) **, next-to-nerdy** (what can I say, he is The Game, the Cerebral Assassin... he's damn smart. As for Mercury, he works for Seth exclusively... Hunter and Stephanie just gave him the job. Paige... that would definitely be one hell of a twist. thanks for the kind words!) **, and startrekfan1177** (i'll be sure to include that in the near future, i promise! and thank you!) **, thank you guys for the words and let me know what you think of this one**


	18. Bad Moon Rising

**Bad Moon Rising**

She remembered her name, she remembered where she should have been, where her shed was, she remembered the floods and she remembered the man, this man pacing in front of her, outside of her repair shop, but that— everything else was blurry, dislodged.

The woman that was pressed up against the door looked at least a little petrified but her eyes were calculating.

"Okay, okay, okay, what am I gonna do, what am I gonna do…" the dirty blonde who had been there when she stumbled into some form of consciousness was running his hands through his hair, drumming his fingers off of his skull. When he turned to the woman at the door, he didn't look threatening anymore. "Fix it. Fix it now or next time I will choke you out and I don't give a crap who your family is."

She visibly paled. "I— it was an experimental drug that Stephanie took and I… I don't know the extent of what her memory loss is, Dean— it was _experimental!_ "

" _Fix_. _It_."

Meredith watched as the woman moved to kneel in front of her, recoiled away— she didn't know who to trust, just new that she'd seen the man in the room before.

"You don't recognise anyone of us?" the woman asked.

Her caramel eyes shifted back to the baby blues in front of her. "Him."

The blues narrowed. "You recognise him?"

"I don't know his name," Meredith murmured, "but I've seen him before."

His head turned in her direction and she glanced up at him again, could feel colour burning on her cheeks.

"What's the last thing you remember?" the woman asked her.

"I— I was fiddling with the engine on my car and I heard someone pull up outside, and when I went to check, he was standing there with the hood up and…" _and he looked like a fallen angel,_ she wanted to say, but her eyes shifted to the side and she shrugged. "I told him I was gonna fix his car, but after that… everything's just like static and white noise."

"You remember your name, date of birth, the floods, just not what's happened recently?" She could almost see the gears shifting in the blonde's head, was almost afraid to look into her eyes. "That's interesting…"

In the far corner, the man stepped forwards. "Abigail, this ain't an experiment anymore. Fix this _now_."

The woman— Abigail— stood. "It's entirely possible that short term memory loss can be stimulated by traumatic situations, and it's just as possible that reintroducing something familiar from the time in question can help speed up the recovery of some of her memories if not all of them. She's in an unfamiliar setting with people she doesn't know. Do something she'll know."

Worry flashed through his blue eyes as he gazed down at Meredith, lifting them to stare at Abigail once more. "What— what am I supposed to do? If she doesn't remember me—"

"Kiss her."

Meredith shifted in the corner. She wanted to remember, remember how she got here, remember this man in front of her who obviously knew her, wanted nothing more than to understand just what the hell was going on, but she _didn't_ know him. Not now, anyway, and kissing a man she didn't know could play out fifty-fifty. This man, the magnetic, commanding man that stood in the same room as her was cautious in the way he was watching her, hand pressed against his mouth.

"No, no way," he said finally, shaking his sweaty hair. "Is there anything else—"

"Do it."

Her voice was quiet but he heard her anyway, stared at her again, and Meredith felt a burning desire shift under her skin— her mind didn't remember, but obviously her body did.

So she pushed to her feet. "Kiss me," she said, "if it doesn't work we can figure something else out."

Entire body stilling as he walked towards her, breath already falling from her lungs, the man reached out a hand to cup the side of her face, smoothed a thumb over her bottom lip. He seemed to surround her then. He stood everywhere she did, he was everywhere she looked. Slate blue eyes stared down into hers. She'd never felt more captured by someone's gaze.

And then his lips were on hers, pushing softly and slowly, kissing her, his fingers shifting through her hair, and he grabbed her hand and brought it up to his chest so she could feel the way his heart was pounding.

His lips were soft and gentle and caressing and Meredith couldn't pull air into her lungs because she wanted more, she wanted more of him, more of his breath and his body under her fingers.

But he pulled back. Clear blue eyes stared down at her. Didn't say anything, just gauged her reaction as his gaze flickered between her eyes.

It hadn't worked. She remembered nothing.

"Dean…" Meredith breathed almost out of instinct, and then his face was split in half by a smile and she knew. His name was Dean.

His arm curled around her waist, body flush against his, her arms moving from between their bodies to lace one around the back of his neck, the other twisting into dirty blonde curls. Mouth so close to hers but not touching, Meredith could feel his quickened breath. "Meredith…" her name was like a question on the end of his tongue. He was— he was asking if it was okay to kiss her again.

She'd barely managed a nod when his lips were pressing onto hers.

Mouth soft, stubble scratching against her cheek, but the kiss was almost feverish and Dean was kissing her with such force it was almost winding. His tongue slid along hers, twisted over and under and there was a faint taste of blood and like a wave crashing onto her body she couldn't breath anymore.

He pulled back again, but his lips lingered on hers, touching softly as their breaths mingled. Meredith's eyes slid open, caramel brown on slate blue, both half-lidded, both clouded.

She remembered everything.

—

A smile curved across his cheeks again and Dean found himself burying his head into her hair, her neck, arms holding her body against his and not willing to let go.

"Dean," she was breathing into his hair, "it's okay, we're okay, I'm okay…"

"You're never leaving me, you understand?"

He wouldn't be able to survive that.

She knew what he meant, gently ran her fingers through his messy hair. "Not going anywhere."

So badly he wanted to stay like that but there were sirens still going, a witch doctor standing in the corner, people after them, and how would they ever get out of this when they'd been in here for— for how long?

Dean pushed himself away from Meredith and scrambled for the ear piece he'd shoved into his pocket, placed it cautiously in his ear. "Hey," he murmured into it. "You there, baldy?"

"I don't know how much longer you're planning on waiting, Ambrose, but if you want to get out we're doing it _now_." The immediate and agitated response was relief enough. "You got that problem sorted or what?"

"It's sorted."

"Do you remember the sealed off corridor in the east wing of the building?"

He paused, glanced at Abigail who was watching him closely. "Yeah."

"Can you get there without being seen?"

"Yeah."

"Let me know when you get there."

The line crackled into silence and he stole a look at Meredith. And he was smiling again.

"It's okay, you're okay," and dimples were creasing his cheeks now, pulling her body into his and hugging her tightly once more. "We're getting out, I'm gonna get you out of here and then we're gonna run and never look back, okay?"

Meredith nodded at him and pulled back. Her eyes slid across to where Abigail was standing and then she looked at him, back at the taser in his pocket, the scalpel in the other one. He noticed and fumbled both weapons out, handed the taser to her. "You don't have to use this," he said, "but if you need to, don't hesitate."

He helped the woman to her feet than and turned on Sister Abigail once more. "The keys— where are they?"

She hesitated.

"If you've seen what I can do with a fork, you know what I'm capable of with a scalpel."

Without much a fight, the keys were handed over.

—

Moving through endless hallways and dodging people who would raise more alarm had Dean's already alert mind in overdrive. Every part of his body was aching and his fingers were beginning to cramp, but he wasn't letting go of Meredith's hand anytime soon.

They'd reached the isolated corridor and Dean could already feel the smell wafting from a gaping whole in the wall.

Dean pressed a button on the ear piece. "We're here, Mercury."

There was a moment of silence and for just a split second Dean thought the lines had been severed. But then the man on the other end was talking. "Good. As soon as you go through that wall and get down into the tunnels, this connection is gonna cut out. You get in there, you go _straight_. Even if it veers, even if it's a sharp turn, you don't get off the main path, okay? Too many places down there to get lost in. At the end of the tunnel there's a car waiting, keys taped behind the wheel. Do you understand that?"

"Go straight, find the car. How hard can it be?"

—  
 _location- Vegas_

Seth was pacing, moving back and forth in his office, eyes shifting from the door to his phone every couple of seconds.

He was an _architect_. His plans would work, they _would_ , and there was no reason for him to fuckin' worry like they were his own kids out there— but he was. His blood felt like led moving through his veins but his skin with prickling with alert.

Should he have trusted Paige? Should he have got Roman from the tunnels himself? She hadn't contacted him since he'd told her what to do and that was the plan, that if he _was_ in the tunnels, she'd just get them both the hell out of dodge and to safety.

 _Safety_.

Was California even safe? Most of the massive city was still a little flooded, dirty water calf high. Hunter and Stephanie had sent him there for reconnaissance a few months ago and when he came back and told them what it was like, the town was immediately crossed of their list. So he could use that to their advantage.

And if Dean got himself and Meredith out in one piece, his brothers would be reunited, Dean's love safe.

His friend had never been one to mess around with his feelings. It was either all or nothing and most of the time it didn't work in his favour, but he'd seen the mechanic's eyes when she was being threatened, saw that strength and that resilience, knew that they would be as close to a perfect match as he was to his training. Dean needed someone to be his anchor. Meredith was it.

The Brit, her black eyes, black and blue hair, pale skin, cheeky grin— he wasn't in the least interested in anything close to romantic, but the woman was of a different breed and if not entertaining, at least interesting.

The door to his office swung open and Joey Mercury stood in the frame. "Good news or bad news, boss?"

"Bad."

His eyes flashed in warning but he spoke anyway. "From what I can understand, Dean Ambrose and Meredith Waters escaped the basement level and are fleeing from Vegas."

That was… that was good news, though, and Seth found himself reaching for the gun taped under his desk. "Good news, then?" he asked slowly.

"Good news is that—"

"I'm not the kind of news you call good."

Seth's heart stopped in his chest when Randy Orton pushed past Mercury. A gun was levelled right at his head and he struggled to breathe, instead pursed his lips and yanked his gun out, pointed it back at Orton, straight at his chest.

"Hunter has disowned me, Rollins, all because of that match. I never wanted it, never wanted that match against Dean," he spat viciously, "I never wanted to get in that cage, but you got into my head, you got into my mind with your words and I would have been just fine had you just kept you _Goddamned fucking mouth shut._ "

Seth prided himself in being two steps ahead of everyone else. But he never saw _this_ coming.

* * *

 **woooow so you guys didn't like the last chapter, or at least that's what im figuring from a lack of reception, i guess? hopefully this one is slightly better then... also since i suck at proof reading i do apologise for any mistakes :)**

 **to my wonderful reviewers Nangel4 (** Dean would kill her in a heart bit without hesitation... if he had the right reasons, of course. glad you enjoy Paige and I hope you enjoy this update! **), and quinzel harley (** IM SORRY! you know my reasoning behind that, i've told you already! also yesss, Paige is my comedic relief! hope you enjoyed this one, even though I already have a feeling you will! **), thank you for the kind words and let me know what you think of this update!**

 **much love x**


	19. Blackout

**Blackout**

Two loaded guns, cocked and aimed. Randy on one side, Seth on the other. He stood behind his desk with the barrel pointed at the taller man, watched with cautious eyes as the gun trained on him didn't move an inch, knew that Joey was wide eyed, staring without a clue of what to do.

Seth's mind was whirring through all the possibilities of how this could go, but then a shot was fired and he instinctively dropped behind the desk, sucked a quick breath in as another round was shot.

A thud.

Almost like a body collapsing to the floor and… he glanced around the corner of the table and had to stop himself from recoiling in shock.

Joey Mercury was on the floor. Red was blossoming around the white shirt that covered his chest, eyes blinking but quickly failing to see, mouth gaping for air that wouldn't come, and Seth had to gather himself, to try and stop the panic that he knew was about to come over his mind.

"You see, Seth, if I can't kill you, I'm just going to shoot every single person you've ever _talked_ to. You— you never thought that you'd be found out, but I _know_. Who the _fuck_ do you think I am?! I'm Randal Keith fuckin' Orton and you are _nothing_ without your pathetic little security team to back you up, just like you're _nothing_ without The Shield!" Orton's words had been laced with malice but now he was laughing, and Seth pressed a shaking hand against his mouth. "You think you can _outplay_ The Game? You think you can get a step up on the _Cerebral Assassin?_ Seth, you're more deluded than I thought you were!"

He could hear the footsteps getting closer to him, inched towards the other side of the desk. Seth wasn't a— he wasn't like Dean or Roman, he wasn't particularly good at straight forward hand to hand combat; his skill was with distraction, with stealth attacks.

And then he paused in his thoughts.

 _He was good with stealth_.

He was _the best_ with his abilities when it came to stealth.

There was a tug at the side of his mouth.

"I'm going to enjoy making you eat a bullet."

As Orton ducked around the side of the desk, Seth flung himself backwards and aimed his gun, fired anywhere he thought the man was, used the attack to run out of the office and towards some cubicles, ducked behind the first one he could find.

Randy wasn't far behind, but as he turned the corner, the half-blonde launched into the air, tackling the man through a cubicle and to the ground.

In the tousle, Randy's gun had been tossed aside, but his size advantage had him on top of Seth quickly. He slammed his fists repeatedly against the side of his head and Seth could feel the split of skin, could feel warm blood start to trickle down the side of his face, but Orton didn't have him pinned. Shooting forwards, he smashed his head into Orton's nose, felt the satisfying crunch, pulled back just in time to dodge the first few droops of blood, and then they were rolling again.

Dirty fingernails were biting into his skin through the black button up and Orton was tearing it from his back, trying to elicit pain in anyway he could, and Seth _knew_ Randy, knew that he liked to feel breaking skin under his fingers, so he launched his head back to Orton's.

There was a piercing yell and Seth tore away from the man who called himself a viper, his mouth dripping blood and flesh, and Orton was cradling the rest of his dangling ear.

A smirk tugged at Seth's lips as he spat the skin from his bloodied mouth.

" _Motherfucker!_ "

He was running then, running down a row of cubicles and he could feel angry panting at the back of his neck and brown eyes locked onto a desk at the end, a wall, and Seth launched himself at it, planted a foot on the white surface, spun himself midair to land a knee to the side of Orton's already damaged head.

The tattooed man fell to the ground and Seth was on him in seconds, using his legs to pin strong arms to the ground, felt the man writhing under his body. A shaking hand reached around to grab the gun he'd shoved into his back pocket.

"You wanna threaten _me?_ The _Architect?_ Do you have any idea who _I_ am? What _The Shield_ is capable of?" Seth's lips pulled back over his teeth and he growled, dug his knee into Orton's arm, kept his boot on the other one. He shot his fist forward against the man's face and then slipped the barrel of his gun into the mouth now gasping in pain.

"Gonna make me eat a bullet?" Seth hissed down at him. "What a _viper_ , huh? Can't even get the job done, just like always—"

"Enough."

Slowly he raised his head, looked through the wreckage of the office to where Hunter Helmsley stood, two men flanking him with rifles levelled at his head.

And what a sight it must have been. Seth, with a bloodied mouth, blood spilling from a cut above his eyebrow, shirt ripped and barely even covering his chest, and then Randy under him not looking much better— a blood nose, his ear torn to shreds, a gun in his mouth.

"Get off him."

Seth did as he was told.

"I gotta hand it to you, Seth— never woulda picked you as the guy _stupid_ enough to try and undermine me."

The half-blonde man sucked in a deep breath. _He was going to die._

 **XxX**

Playing the waiting game was something Paige was never really good at.

She'd gotten them there in one piece, to a city that was covered in overgrown greenery, trees with roots that had pushed out from under pavement, branches and vines and moss spiralling up against the walls of skyscrapers.

Black clouds turned violently in the sky as she glanced out from underneath a broken windowsill. Her stomach twisted looking down.

 _Fuck_ , did she hate heights.

She'd gotten them to California _in one piece_ , and how did they repay her?

"Stay here and keep watch," Brie had almost ordered her. "We're going to go check out the rest of the building, try and find a place for us to rest."

Seth would have been on her side. At least, she thought he would've.

The long butchers knife she'd carried in the tunnels was still resting pretty on her thigh and Paige sighed as she dropped onto her ass, hung her legs out the window. The breeze pushing black hair back from her face was soothing, even if she was precariously dangling at least ten floors above ground, and idly she ran a thumb against the smooth steel of her weapon.

She had a knife that was almost a sword hybrid, Brie carried that silver handgun which had one less bullet in it now that a guard was dead. But Roman carried nothing. Not that she could see, anyway.

So what did he use? His teeth? Is that why he kept the Mexican woman with him; to protect himself?

No, it couldn't be.

She'd heard the stories, she knew what he was capable of. He'd torn through eleven of Hunter Helmsley's men. But if he didn't carry a weapon, was _he_ the weapon himself?

Paige's head ached just trying to think about it.

She remembered The Shield, remembered how he'd been the quiet, brooding leader. But then she thought of Seth, who was pulling the strings behind closed doors. Thought of their friend Dean, who she knew as the fighter, the brawler. Countless times she'd seen pictures of him floating around standing victorious over other men.

She heard the pair before they announced their arrival, quietly pulling herself from the window and standing with hands on her hips.

"You two quite done yet?"

Her British accent snapped Roman and Brie away from each other, brown eyes and pale eyes landing on her almost like they'd forgotten she was there.

"Yeah, there's a floor a couple of levels down with a few supplies, we can stock up there," Brie managed to reply. "A few beds, too."

"Praise the heavens."

Paige wedged herself between the pair and walked down the hallway towards the staircase, glancing back over her shoulder quickly. "What level?"

"Five."

It didn't take long for the pale woman to find the area Brie had been talking about. It looked like an apartment at first glance, but there were doors throughout the room which lead into different apartments— and if Paige wasn't mistaken, this entire level could have very well been used for prostitution. _Fan-fuckin'-tastic,_ she thought sourly.

 **XxX**

The road stretched out in front of them. It seemed endless, miles and miles of grey pavement under grey sky, pavement which split the desert in two like a lightening strike.

They'd been travelling for hours— or was it days? Meredith had lost count when her eyes slipped shut, exhaustion swallowing her mind without hesitation.

But behind her lids flashed the memories she desperately didn't want to remember. The feeling as Stephanie's sedater through her into a black pit, the feeling as Dean was ripped from her arms, the feeling as she was left in that room smashing her fists against the door, kicking and screaming until she realised there was no hope of getting out. And when she'd returned to the bed to try and calm herself, a giant of a man had snapped her up and into his arms like she was feather weight. Dean, her lost soul, her hurricane— he looked physically broken. _What had they done to him?_

He'd been pale, ghostlike, tear tracks burnt across the grit on his cheek. The man probably hadn't even realised he was crying.

Meredith had never thought she was weak. Years of having people come and go, of having The Authority abuse her services but keeping her under lock and key, years of burning herself and accidentally hurting herself— no, she wasn't weak. Or a pushover. But whatever that drug was, the same drug that had coursed through her veins; she felt weak after that.

It must've been hours after she'd fallen asleep when she heard his voice.

"Meredith?" A soft hand fell onto her thigh. "Meredith, love…"

Even as her eyes opened, images of his pain were still burning on the back of her lids. Meredith twisted in the car seat and gazed tiredly at Dean. "You okay?"

An apologetic smile crossed his lips. "I'm fine. We, uh— we need to walk from here, though."

The mechanic glanced out the windshield curiously. What greeted her eyes had them wide; the shape of a city stood against the backdrop of the dying day like a painting and it wasn't even close to where they were, but even then… she could see the other car.

"Yeah, okay."

Disembarking from the car, Meredith wrapped both arms around her almost bare waist, shivering in the drop of temperature. Seth's shirt had been torn apart, straps tight around both her hands, and the rest of it barely covered her stomach. In the cold, Meredith knew she wouldn't last long enough to get to the city.

Caramel eyes watched Dean as he walked around the car in a dirty looking tank top. "You good?"

She nodded at him. But when he started walking, Meredith reached out to wrap fingers around his wrist, pulled herself into him as tightly as she could. Cautiously, Dean hugged her back. Then his head sunk into the mess of her hair.

"Sorry," she breathed as she began to shake against him, "Just need some body warmth."

"Coulda just asked for a hug, darlin'," was his shuddery reply, and Meredith found herself smiling into the skin of his shoulder. She had no idea the amount of pain he was going through, but if he was compass enough to throw a little bit of sass at her— she wasn't complaining.

With her hand now grasped in his, they made their way across the dying backdrop towards the city.

—

Black clouds were sitting heavy in the sky and Meredith was shivering so horribly that her teeth felt numb. In front of her, Dean was scouting the streets and checking for signs of life— but she could still see the way a shudder would roll down his spine every now and then.

Her home had never been near any kind of city. Meredith's life had always been spent in the more urban areas and it was a shock when the floods had reached as far as they did, but this… this was something else entirely. San Francisco was one of the first major cities to be hit with the water and the empty streets, the moss covered streets, the dirt and the litter left over from the ocean— it was proof that the floods had been gone for much longer than she'd first thought.

"How didn't we know about this?" she asked Dean quietly, mimicking his movements as they stuck to the shadows. He shot her a questioning look. "We were always told that San Fran wasn't liveable because streets were still flooded, but… it looks like it's been dry for years."

"The Authority control what we know and what we don't know. Sure, there are rumours, but… anyone living under Hunter's rule believes that the truth is what he chooses to tell them."

Meredith followed a line of site up into a building and stopped short, frowning at what looked like legs hanging over the edge.

"Dean…" she reached out to stop him, "what's that?"

He was grabbing at her all of a sudden, pulling her along behind him as he jogged to the exact building where she'd seen the legs. This was— if this was a trap, why were they going in like it was a house on fire?

"Dean!" Meredith hissed. "Dean, what—"

"Shhh," he hushed her, turning to show that his finger was pressing at his lips. "This could turn out fifty fifty, but we need to be quiet."

With her hand twisting in the back of his wife beater, Meredith climbed the building staircase. Her free hand was hovering above the taser that was still resting in her pocket and her heart was pounding so loudly she was surprised the sound wasn't echoing off the walls.

Following the sound of heavy footsteps lead them to the fifth floor and caramel eyes glanced down to see the scalpel being turned in Dean's palm over and over again.

But then she was looking past him, over his shoulder, her eyes locking onto black stringy hair and a leather jacket, ripped black skinny jeans, dirty looking Doc Martins, rings and jewellery and without the woman even having to turn around, a name was pushing from Meredith's lips.

" _Paige?!_ "

The woman in question spun. Black eyes met caramel as Meredith stepped out from behind a confused Dean and then Paige had both her hands over her mouth, eyes widening. " _Meredith?!_ "

* * *

 **that was the most fun i've had writing a chapter in ages! woo! getting back into a grove~~**

 **to _gamesgrl5887_ (** did Orton get disowned by Daddy or did Daddy play Orton to find Seth out ;) **), _quinzel harley_ (** plot twists are what i live for! EVERY CHAPTER MUST HAVE A LEAST A LITTLE BIT OF A PLOT TWIST! beauty in chaos, i like that... hope you enjoyed this chapter, love! **), _next-to-nerdy_ (** Orton's still very loyal to Hunter, sorry if I confused you! Seth and Paige... maybe ;) hope you enjoyed this update! **), _Nangel4_ (** you're too sweet! thank you so much! glad you noticed how clinical (i guess?) Abigail is, she is indeed very dangerous in her own right! hope you enjoyed this one! **), and Hollarious969 (** thank you! i can definitely understand wanting to see Meredith regain the memories slowly, but I thought it would have been a bit too much... oh well! hope you enjoy this one! **), thank you so much for taking the time to post the reviews, it really makes this story easier to write knowing people are enjoying it!**

 **let me know what you think, my loves xx**


	20. No Rest For The Weary

**No Rest For The Weary**

There was— there was so much going on his head and it was spinning and he was trying not to fall over and collapse on the ground, because his muscles were aching and his stomach was throbbing from that cheap shot Kane managed to get in.

But… Meredith _knew_ this pale women, the one who'd slipped him the napkin with the scribble from Seth and— _where was Seth?_ Were they together?

"What the fuck…" Meredith whispered, and then Dean was recoiling because she'd never sworn.

"What the fuck are you doin' here?!"

The two women weren't even smiling, just staring at each other with wide eyes, and Dean had to stop himself from dragging Meredith back behind him because old friend or not, The Authority could turn anyone.

His fingers curled around Meredith's wrist and dragged her back to his side anyway, and then his voice was ringing clear. "You're the one that gave Seth's note to me."

"It's Paige, actually," was her short reply. "And you're Dean Ambrose and _that_ is Meredith Waters, and upstairs somewhere is Roman Reigns and a woman called Brie. So do you mind—"

"Roman Reigns?"

His head was swirling even more now because _what?_ Roman Reigns was upstairs? No, no, he wasn't here, he couldn't have been here unless— unless he'd gone back to Vegas. There was no way through to San Francisco from Meredith's small town except through Vegas, and there was _no fucking way_ Roman could've made it out of Vegas alive.

Dean shook his head. "How do I know you're not lying?"

Dark eyes shifted past his head and the woman, Paige, shrugged. "Look for yourself."

"Ambrose?"

He spun on the spot because no, no, Paige wasn't lying, standing back near the stairwell was the Samoan man with a woman that had a small smile on her face and then his legs were moving, shifting his weight, walking towards his brother, and Roman met him halfway with strong arms.

"Holy fucking shit," Dean breathed into quiet space, "Holy _fuckin'_ shit, how are you still alive?"

Roman was chuckling and then Dean was and they pushed away, but Dean had his hands in the black hair and was pressing their heads together, a smile breaking across his face.

Again pushing away from each other, blue eyes running over Roman and the way he stood tall and strong and in one piece. He felt like a part of his soul was back— one of the only people he would ever trust through thick and thin, one of the only people that would _always_ have his back no matter what… he was alive and breathing under Dean's hands, and suddenly it didn't matter that his entire body was quaking with effort not to collapse.

"You look like you've been through hell and back," Roman murmured as he dropped a kiss onto the mess of Dean's hair.

And Dean was laughing. "Kane tried to make a puppet out of me," he said, "didn't really work."

But his blue eyes were glancing around again, looking for someone who wasn't there, and Roman was frowning at him. "Dean?"

"Seth with you guys?"

"No, I thought he was comin' with you."

"This was Plan B," Dean murmured. His eyes fell on Brie, then Meredith and Paige. "San Francisco was always Plan B. Get out and take what's important to you… where is he?"

 **XxX**

He wasn't bound or gagged or even being tortured but he wouldn't put it past them to lull him into a false sense of security.

Seth _had_ to look at what had just happened to try and figure out how he was going to approach what was about to happen. Joey Mercury was dead. _Truth_. Randy Orton had thought that he was a traitor. _Truth_. Hunter had probably heard everything. _Truth_. Hunter _knew_ that Seth had been playing him from the very beginning. _Theory_. Or was it? When had he found out, exactly?

They were back in Triple H's office and Seth didn't have a weapon on him save for his teeth, and Kane stood behind the chair that he was sitting in. Hunter was behind his desk and staring across at him, probably trying to unnerve him. And— where was Stephanie McMahon? That witch of a thing he called his wife?

"I have to say," Hunter finally said. He shifted, interlocked his fingers. "I never thought it would come to this. Your loyalty was a matter of degree, Seth, not an either-or compromise. I never fully had it, and the longer and longer you stayed under me, the harder it was for you to stay loyal."

Seth lifted his chin but kept his lips shut.

"It just reminds me so much of what happened with The Shield. You were fine to begin with— amazing, even. But as soon as you got just a _sniff_ of something more… _exciting_ , you _just_ couldn't stay put," he shook his head in disappointment. "You three are never going to be happy with what you have, are you? Always looking for— for more chaos, always ready to start a war that doesn't need to happen. You wanted to fight against injustices, I _showed_ you injustices. And then you went and shoved that hospitality back in my face. I _saved_ you and you tried to step on me like trash. What happened, Seth? I gave all of you everything you could ever want—"

"What happened was that we realised the injustice was _you_." Seth felt heavy breath on the back of his bare neck and he desperately wanted to try and suppress the shudder, but Hunter's lips curled when he saw it.

"You were like _sons_ to me."

The half-blonde man snorted. "That's not how you treat family."

"So explain this to me then," Hunter sat forward now, his brown eyes inquisitive. "When you betrayed them for me, that was their idea? They were okay with you stabbing them in the back? Roman Reigns was _okay_ with the hit you put out on him? Dean Ambrose was _okay_ with being separated from both of you? You abandoned _both_ of them for some _bigger picture?_ And what is that, exactly? Explain to me what that _bigger picture is!_ " When Hunter finished, veins were pushing against his skin, a flush crawling up his chest in rage.

"I don't need to explain anything to you."

The smirk that spread across Hunter's face turned his blood almost to ice.

And then the man was standing and slowly walking around the table. "Get up."

Seth didn't move.

" _Get up!_ "

Hands were under his arms and Kane was yanking him up until he was eye level with Hunter, and he saw the twist on his face and in his shoulders and then a fist was buried deep into his stomach. Seth's loud gasp for air echoed around the room and Kane let him go, let him fall to his knees pathetically while Triple H crouched above him.

"You'll go to where ever they're hiding. You will tell them what I am telling you right now. If you're not back here by sunset tomorrow, I'm sending the beast in to kill you all. You get Roman Reigns, you get Dean Ambrose, you bring them back to me. And if you don't, I will kill anybody you've ever looked at. Do I make myself clear?"

Seth was hasty to nod and he glanced up with wary eyes. "What do I say to them?"

"You give them a proposal. Ambrose likes to fight, does he not?" Seth sucked another deep breath in as Hunter tilted his head. "We can all profit from this, Seth. Tell Ambrose that his next opponent between those steel walls is gonna be _me_. I get money, he gets a good fight."

There was a catch, there was _always_ a catch, and the arm wrapped around his stomach tensed. "But?"

"But if he _loses_ , The Shield is back under my control. No questions asked, you do what I want when I want."

"And if you lose?" asked Seth after a moment of hesitation.

Hunter's lips twisted. "I don't lose."

—

The car they gave him didn't even have heating in it. Seth shook uncontrollably the entire drive to San Francisco, and possibly he should have been grateful for the shirt they'd given him, but he was _fucking freezing_. At one stage when he looked down at his hands, the skin under his fingernails was a bruising shade of purple.

It was more likely that he'd freeze to death than get to Roman and Dean.

 _And Paige_.

It was in the back of his mind, a nagging, constant, fleeting thought. Paige. Paige. Paige. _Paige_.

He was finally losing his mind, was gonna end up like Ambrose in the way he hit his head to get his thoughts sorted. Seth whacked his head before he stop himself, then swore as loud as he could— Orton must have hit him in the same spot while they'd fought and now it was throbbing angrily.

Orton.

Where was he?

The viper had disappeared pretty much as soon as The Authority goons had gotten their hands on Seth, and with half a missing ear and a bloodied nose, he'd probably gone to Abigail straight away, then right back into Hunter's hands.

If the man had anymore than half a working brain, he'd figure out that he was much better off anywhere but Vegas.

As the outline of the city loomed into his vision, a frown pulled at Seth's face.

 _How were they all going to get out of this alive?_

They weren't.

Seth wasn't a pessimist but he wasn't an optimist, and the best case, most _realistic_ scenario was only one of them died. The worst case? All of them would.

Plan B was getting them all to San Fran and then getting the hell out of whatever was left of the United States— but that was on the basis they _weren't_ being hunted. It was very likely the three of them could just disappear off the face of the earth, but their connections and old friends would sell them out for the right price no matter what, so no matter how hard they tried to hide, they would never escape the claws of Hunter Helmsley and Stephanie McMahon.

 _Plan C, Plan C, Plan C, Plan C_ — nothing. Nothing came to mind.

They were all going to die.

—

There was a red plaid shirt waving in the wind, hanging off a broken window pane almost ten stories in the air.

A sweat was built up on his tanned skin because he'd been running to keep warm, but now he was hungry and tired and his head was aching and he was still cold and all he wanted to do was find a warm place to spend the night before he continued to search for his brothers.

And the red material was a sign.

So Seth walked towards the building and pushed into the lobby, put one foot after the other as he lethargically climbed the stairs, but he had to stop, had to hold his head between his hands because he'd ruined it for his brothers, he'd been the one to slip up, he'd been the one to throw all of their lives back into the chaos that they tried so desperately to get away from.

He could hear laughter now, let it dance between his ears and bounce off the base of his skull, and Seth took a deep breath before pushing back to his feet.

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth when he laid his eyes on exactly where the noise was radiating from.

It was picturesque.

Roman and Brie and Dean and Meredith sat around a small fire that was being controlled inside a metal trashcan, Dean's face split in half by his smile and the dimples, light from the flames illuminating his face. Roman was whole heartedly laughing and clutching at his stomach, Brie smiling at him with soft eyes, and Meredith was curled into Dean's side, her hand clutching his shoulder. Paige— _Paige._

He'd not thought about her since he hit his head and he realised with a start that Ambrose may've been onto something.

But Paige was sat there, looking half tuned in to whatever story Dean was telling, her face staring out the dusty window pensively.

With a quick cough to clear his throat, Seth watched as all five pairs of eyes locked on his tired frame. A different kind of smile was at Dean's lips and then Roman was up, collecting him in a big hug, Dean next.

"'bout fuckin' time you got here, Rollins," Paige murmured. He glanced over to where she stood and smile when the soft accusatory tone was paired with a genuine looking grin.

He couldn't find it in himself to smile back at them.

"Seth? What's wrong?"

It was Roman.

His eyes moved back to his brothers and the words tumbling out of his mouth were uncontrollable. "It's not over."

* * *

 **weeeee, powering onwards! you lot are lucky because i have to extend the time-span of the next couple of days a bit and add an extra chapter... i think you'll enjoy the next one, at least!**

 **also, uh... has anyone recovered from RAW yet? i certainly haven't...**

 **to the beautiful reviewers _quinzel harley_ (** yay, i'm glad you liked it! not bad that you want sexy times, but I might have to make a one shot because it probably won't fit in very well! I make no promises but I will definitely write one! **), _Nangel4_ (** hope you liked the reunion between Ro and Dean! you're very welcome, hope you enjoyed this update! **), _next-to-nerdy_ (** is Smalls a nickname for me or a character ;)? I think Hunter is very confident in his abilities and thinks that he'll always win, so he's not taking it out on Seth as much as he probably should be! glad you liked it, hope you like this one as well! **), _Nobody's Love_ (** what a cliffhanger indeed! it's such a joy to write them *hearteyes* reunion was imminent, reunion was AWESOME. let me know what you thought of this and thanks for the review lovely! **), and _Hollarious969_ (** thank you for the kind words, hope you enjoyed this chapter! **), thank you guys so much for the kind words and let me know what you think of this chapter!**

 **NEXT CHAPTER:** The Shield talk and make their decision; the advocate arrives.

 **until next time, my wonderful readers xx**


	21. We Won't Say Goodbye

**We Won't Say Goodbye**

Dean sat unmoving. His hands were curled into fists and pressing against his mouth and all he really wanted to do was just lie down and sleep for ten years, but… he couldn't. Not when he was trying to figure out just exactly _what_ Seth's words meant.

"What do you mean it's not over?" Brie had broken the silence when no one else would.

"Hunter knows everything."

"Define everything."

And he'd explained it all. Exactly what Triple H wanted, exactly what he didn't want to hear. "He wants to fight Ambrose. In the cage. And if he wins, The Shield is back under his control."

"He couldn't control The Shield the first time around, what makes him think he can do it now?" was Paige's response.

"What if he loses?" Meredith slowly asked.

But Seth shook his head. "He didn't say. He doesn't expect to lose."

And now Dean was sitting pressed up against the window, pressing the temple of his head against the cool glass. He needed the distraction, needed the soothing to try and get rid of the pounding.

Triple H didn't expect to lose. And Dean knew, he knew the stories of the man, the thirteen and zero streak he had in the cage before he'd shifted it off to Dean like he was a protégée. He couldn't remember the amount of times he'd won, stopped counting after they'd made him fight against Daniel Bryan.

His eyes shifted to where Brie was curled against Roman's back. He'd killed her husband and she could still be in the same room as him. But she hadn't so much as looked at him.

Maybe she was trying to avoid lodging a bullet between his eyes.

He didn't blame her.

There were a lot of despicable things he'd done under Triple H. Yet, he didn't feel it like Roman felt it, he didn't have the guilt. There had been a metaphorical gun placed at his head the moment Kane hadn't killed them all those years ago, he'd been fighting in order to survive. He didn't understand why Roman couldn't see it that way.

"Hey."

Dean's eyes lifted at the sound of Meredith's voice. He watched as she sat opposite him, knees drawn into her chest, arms keeping them close.

They'd raided the rest of the building and had found a couple of tattered sweaters and shirts, and there was a massive grey sweater that hung on her small frame, but she didn't look as cold as she had when they'd first arrived.

"I couldn't sleep," she murmured as she finally broke eye contact, turning to look out the window. "Figured if you were leaving tomorrow I'd spend some time with you."

He frowned then. "How do you know we're leaving?"

A sad smile tugged at her lips. "I can see it in your eyes. Even if you have to go alone, you're not missing that fight."

His eyes slid shut when he remembered how perceptive she was.

Because she was right. He was going to destroy everything Triple H had ever worked for, even if it destroyed him while doing it. There was no other way for this to end, everyone knew it. He had a responsibility— he had to do right by his brothers, he had to do right by Meredith. They'd showed him a family. Now he had to make sure they survived.

"Tell me how you know Paige."

He didn't bother to open his eyes, but he could tell that she was staring at him questioningly. She seemed to understand then that he needed a distraction.

Her sigh was quiet. "There was this guy that worked with me, the same one that asked for the punching bag. His name was Zak, he was this British guy, absolute piece of work, but he was funny. Paige is his younger sister. She would come and go every time The Authority needed a repair, she'd drive in with Orton and catch up with him and when the car was done, she'd drive back out with him. It was only a few times, but… she's not the kind of person you can forget easily."

That was true— he'd only met Paige twice, but she had this energy of _I don't give a single fuck about anything_ and he liked it.

Dean slid his lids back open and spread his legs, held his arms open. "Mer…"

When she looked back at him, she smiled. The mechanic shifted and settled into his arms, her head fitting snug under his chin, fingers knotting into the jumper he'd found.

"You come back to me, okay?" Meredith breathed shakily into his chest. "I don't care how you do it, you just come back to me."

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I promise."

She deflated when she heard how hollow it sounded and Dean knew right away that she hadn't expected anything else.

Meredith turned her nose against his chest, pressed her ear to where his heart was beating beneath scarred skin. His calloused hand traced along the material over her arm and even through it, he could feel her skin raising under the feathery touch. But then he moved it up and curled his fingers around her chin. Gently, he tilted her chin up until caramel was staring into slate blue and his eyes were burning, hers wide and— he saw the want swirl through them.

His hand shifted to grip the back of her neck. "I'll come back to you," he whispered. "I promise."

And then he was kissing her, pressing his lips into hers, wrapping a strong arm around her waist to keep her close. Another "I promise" was breathed into her mouth and she shifted on him, threw her legs over his so she was straddling him, deepening the kiss. A groan sounded at the back of his throat as she twisted her hands through his hair, tugging unapologetically, and the grip of his hands on her waist was bruising.

But just as quick as it had started, the embrace turned into a tight hug, Meredith pressing her face into his neck and breathing out shakily and she held him.

He never wanted to let go.

 **XxX**

Light was shining in from the window and he groaned, shifted an arm over his face. He could sleep for another year before he was ready to wake up again. But as soon as the light hit his face, as soon as there was a dull pink glow behind his lids, his brain was back in action.

He'd thought they'd never been able to survive, he'd thought that they wouldn't make it out with all of their lives in tact.

There was a silent agreement the night before between himself and Roman, even when nothing had been spoken. They'd both seen the look in Dean's eyes and they weren't about to let him go to war without them. So Today, they'd set course back for Vegas.

So instead of sitting and waiting for the others to wake up, Seth slowly pushed his eyes open and rubbed at them, sat up with a groan.

Against the window, Dean and Meredith were in each other's arms, his brother's head resting against the window, Meredith's against his warm chest. Near the stairwell was Roman and Brie— their backs were to pressing together, but somehow they were still curled into each other.

And that left Paige. He glanced across to where she'd been sleeping, but with a start realised she was gone.

He climbed to his feet noiselessly, made his way past Roman, his legs pushing him towards a soft thudding that echoing through the stairwell and emanating from a few floors above him.

There was a smirk that tugged at his lips when he heard the feminine grunting.

"Fuckin' door," she was muttering, "who the fuck locks their door in the middle of a flood, what the fuck is wrong with this people…"

When he stepped from the stairs and into the new level, Paige was halfway down the hall, slamming her shoulder into an unmoving door.

"Need some help?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice and let out a little yelp, placed a hand at her heart, sent him a little glare that had him smiling even wider. "Fuckin' warn someone before you scare 'em next time, yeah?!" Paige took a deep breath and motioned back to the door. "This thing won't give in. I've checked all the other ones, but this is the only one that's got a locked door. Which makes _no_ fuckin' sense, because who the fuck locks their door _in the middle of a flood?_ "

Seth found himself laughing at her outburst and motioned for her to move away. When he slammed his shoulder into the door with some strength behind it, the lock gave way and snapped off, the door flying open.

"Better?"

Paige shot him an appreciative grin, then pushed past and into the pristine looking apartment.

"Could've fuckin' slept in here last night," she said to herself. "Look for some clothes, you were shaking all night."

His brown eyes found her darker ones and he pursed his lips, nodded his head. She was right. So he walked into the first room he could see and headed straight for the standing wardrobe, rifling through what looked like hand me down clothes. Fingers locking around a large black top and a worn in hoodie, Seth pulled the material on quickly, zipping the hoodie up with trembling hands.

He hadn't realised until Paige had mentioned, but he was still fucking freezing. The fire had helped, definitely, but it didn't last for long once they were all out.

When he walked back out into the main living room, Seth's brown eyes locked on the way Paige was rifling through the cabinet, pulling out all sorts of foods and ingredients, chucking most of them in a large pile and a few in the smaller pile on the bench. She must've felt his gaze, looked up.

"You should go get the others, I'll get something organised for some food."

He was almost out the door when he turned back to her. "Hey, uh… thank you. For everything you've done for me."

A smile curved at her lips. "Anytime, hot stuff."

 **XxX**

Roman had never been one for long goodbyes. Or goodbyes in general.

While Dean had swept Meredith into his arms and kissed her, hugged her as tightly as he could, he smiled. They were right for each other. Meredith was his rock.

And obviously Paige had felt a little left out and pulled a shocked looking Seth into a quick kiss. Roman had to hold back his laugh when Seth's reaction had been wide eyes and a gaping mouth. She'd said something along the lines of 'I felt left out' and then laughed when he didn't reply.

So Roman stood to the side and waited for his brothers.

"You know, I'd never have thought that you'd willingly go back into that city."

He turned his eyes down to where Brie was leaning on the wall next to him. "I'm not going willingly."

"We could all just run away right now, never look back. There's six of us— we'd easily survive in these buildings alone, we could keep it on the down low. Stealthy is healthy."

There was a gentle grin on his face. "I'm not letting Dean go back there alone."

"Never thought you would."

He thought the conversation was over, but then her hand was on his arm, her head ducking to catch his eyes. "You keep them safe, okay? Do whatever you have to do. And don't let Hunter or Stephanie get into your head, because you're better than that. You beat them at their own game and then you all come back, you hear me?"

"Dunno what I'd do without you," Roman lightly teased.

"Honestly, you'd probably be dead by now."

He snorted at that and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulled her in to his chest and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "Seriously. Thank you."

"Thank me when you get back."

—

A long road stretched out in front of them.

Roman was in the passenger, Dean at the wheel, Seth in the back.

The silence in the car was deafening. He remembered when their banter would be the best part of his day, but there was nothing to say when they were heading towards their destruction.

He dragged a hand down his face, across his beard.

There was no plan. They were going in blinded. There was a very good probability that they were walking right into a trap and that Hunter would get what he wanted without actually having to fight for it, but what choice did they really have? It was either go back or get captured. All three of them were ready for this stupid game of cat and mouse to be over and done with.

Roman had only just settled into his seat when Dean slammed on the brakes, throwing them all forward, and he pushed a tattooed arm against the dash in order to save her snap of his head.

"Dean!" Seth shouted angrily. "What the fuck, man?"

But he was silent, staring out the window with something close to fear dancing through his eyes.

When Roman followed his line of sight, the blood in his veins turned to ice.

In the middle of the road, maybe fifty metres away, there were figures of two men that stood out against the desert.

The hulking shoulders, the way he bounced back and forth on his feet. The man standing beside him in a suit, hair pulled back into a bun, arrogant grin on his face and his arms crossed in front of a protruding belly— he knew them. He knew them without even seeing the features of their faces. He'd know them with his eyes closed.

Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman were standing right in front of their car.

The Beast and his advocate had found them.

* * *

 **as i said last time- we're powering to the end! once this is finished, i'm thinking of writing another AU. less apocalyptic, more modern, another Dean/OC but with Seth/OC as well... would you guys read?**

 **to the beautiful people who reviewed quinzel harley (** it's a pretty cool line, isn't it? hehehe i will probably write it once this is done! hope you enjoyed the fluff in the mean time! **), Nangel4 (** what can i say, i'm a mean writer huehuehue. don't think Hunter realises just exactly who he's put himself up against... thank you for the words, hope you enjoyed this update! **), and next-to-nerdy (** HAHA okay i'll check out the movie then! Weird history between Paige and Meredith, but not bad... and i know, all our babies are in the same place for once! hope you enjoyed this one! **), thank you so much for the kind words and let me know what you think about this update! bit less gritty, bit more fluff and stuff... it's a nice inbetween, i think!**

 **xx**


	22. Company

**Company**

They were stopped in the middle of the road.

Dean's hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly and his knuckles were turning white, lips pursed. His chest was rising and falling quickly, almost like he was pushing back his anger by controlling his breath, and Roman laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Don't," he said. "He didn't kill me."

"Shoulda just ran them over," Dean hissed more to himself, but then he shook his head, laughed. "What the fuck is even going on, I thought we had one more day, Seth?"

"So did I."

Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman were standing stoically maybe fifty metres in front of them and they hadn't moved a muscle, but Roman's entire body froze as Heyman reached into his jacket pocket.

A gun?

A weapon?

No, no, it was a— a piece of paper.

And then he was moving forwards.

Lesnar stayed where he was.

"What is he doing?"

All three men watched as Heyman walked closer to them, and above the sound of the idling engine they could hear his voice call out. "Boys, boys— let's have a little chat."

"Fuckin' run him over," Dean muttered again. "I could fuckin' run him over and then we could kill his beast…"

"Y'know that's literally suicide, Ambrose."

Seth's words weren't harsh but they were true. His gloved hands were grabbing at the door, pushing it open as he stepped out, and Dean's mouth moved around his name and a cuss, following suit. The Samoan took a deep breath as he watched his brothers walk up to the walrus of a man, had to stop himself from remembering the time where he'd almost lost his life because of Heyman's beast. He took another moment to collect himself. Then moved from the car to stand next to the waiting Ambrose and Rollins.

"I'm not one to beat around the bush," Heyman said slowly. There was a curve to his lips and his eyes were darting back and forth between the men standing in front of him. "Apparently, neither is Hunter Helmsley."

He held out the piece of paper and Seth took it cautiously, turned it over in his hands so they could all get a good look at it.

"He doesn't waste any time, does he?"

It was a flyer. Dean standing opposite Hunter, bold letters between them reading ' _the biggest fight of the year_ ', the space underneath reading ' _the Protégée vs the Game_ '. Hunter didn't even have Dean's answer, but it was already being advertised— he knew. He knew Dean was going to say yes no matter the conditions.

"Something tells me you boys don't have a plan C."

Roman's eyebrows pulled in. _What was Paul Heyman doing?_

"Let me offer you a _proposal_ , of sorts," Heyman continued, locking his fingers in front of his stomach. "You know just as well as I do that power hungry people can screw around with positions of power to get what they want. From the beginning, The Shield was always supposed to make sure that Hunter Helmsley and Stephanie McMahon stayed in power— but I think you already knew that. Here's something you may not know about my client Brock Lesnar; he doesn't like swimming. Hunter and Stephanie's ship is sinking, yours isn't. I think you know where I'm going with this…"

He was never really good with words like Seth was, and maybe some part of him was struggling to understand what was happening, but… were Heyman and Lesnar siding with _them?_ After everything Lesnar had done to him, after everything Heyman had said to him… he didn't believe it.

But instead, it was Seth who spoke. "So what are you suggesting?"

"It's simple, really. You get me into a position where I can talk to the masses and you'll have freedom for the rest of your lives."

"You're willing to support us, to betray Hunter, just for the opportunity to speak to a crowd?"

Heyman's lips curved as he assessed Seth. "Is that all I'm doing? Speaking to a crowd?"

As much as Roman wanted to accuse Paul Heyman of having a hidden agenda, he wasn't hiding it. He wanted to sit where Hunter sat, he wanted that power. And he wanted their help to get it.

"How can we trust you?"

"Do you see where my beast is?" Heyman responded to Roman, his eyes narrowing in a tight grin. "If I wanted you dead, Reigns, you'd be dead. There's a reason he didn't kill you. Let me fill you in on a little secret— Hunter Helmsley doesn't pull the strings when it comes to my client. I do."

"And what do you propose we do?" asked Seth.

Instead of directing his response to Rollins, he turned to Dean, who was staring back at him with eyes made of ice. "You go into that fight, because I can see in your eyes how much you want it. You beat Hunter Helmsley half to death— though that part is optional. Kill him, if you so desire. That's all you have to do."

"It can't be that simple."

"It's not going to be that simple. Hunter Helmsley was fighting a long time before you three joined the fray. He's going to push Dean to his absolute limits, but… I have faith that the right man is going to win."

Roman didn't want to agree to this. It was suicide, and if by any chance Dean actually won— what made him think that Heyman wasn't going to order The Shield around like his own puppets?

 _Because he has the beast._

Brock Lesnar was a much an insurance plan as anything else.

"You got yourself a deal."

With wide eyes, the Samoan turned to stare at Dean, mouth gaping, and as Heyman stuck his hand out, he shook it confidently.

"I'll be seeing you soon, boys," Paul Heyman smiled.

Once the stout man was out of earshot, Seth turned on Dean. "What the fuck are you doing, man?" he hissed, "For all we know, that could've been a fucking trap! And _you_ just agreed to it on _our_ behalf!"

"What's the trap?" Dean replied evenly. "What is it, Seth? 'Cause I can't see how _that_ , how _those_ words could be a trap. No way."

His slate blue eyes finally shifted from the two retreating men to stare at Seth and Roman. A smile tugged at his mouth and for a moment, the crazy in his eyes shone through. "Plus, I have to admit… I've always been a Paul Heyman kinda guy."

 **XxX**

It was so quiet with the men gone.

No stories of survival, no tales of how they got out of a tight position. It was just Meredith, Paige and Brie sitting around with nothing better to do.

Before he had left, Dean had slipped the scalpel into her hands, and now she sat, twisting it over and over and staring down at the sharpened blade with interest. She needed him to come back to her. This blade was not the only thing she would have of his, this wasn't his parting gift to her. Desperately, she wanted to believe that this was his way of saying 'protect yourself until I get back', but she'd seen that look in his eyes. He didn't think he was going to survive this fight.

"Have you seen him in the cage?"

Meredith lifted her eyes towards Brie at that, mouth twitching. "Once."

"He's not gonna go down easy," the woman tried to assure. Then her eyes dropped again. "If he does, he'll go down swinging."

She just wanted him back in one piece.

So instead of going down that path of thinking, Meredith shifted her gaze to where Paige was leaning against the window. "You're uncharacteristically quiet, Paige."

The younger woman shrugged.

"Where did Zak end up?"

"Dead."

The breath caught in Meredith's throat and automatically she tried to backpedal. "Oh my god, I didn't—"

"It's okay," Paige said slowly, turning to give her a small grin. "Did they ever tell you why he was transferred?"

Quickly, Meredith shook her head.

"He had lung cancer. Spent too much time smoking to actually care about his health. So he asked a favour of Sister Abigail and she asked for him to be brought back in to her. She wanted to trial some herbal medicines, but his lungs were too far gone, nothing coulda helped him."

"Was he your brother?"

Paige nodded at Brie. "Yeah. Older. Dunno where the rest of my family is, but he was here looking after me when the floods started."

"How old were you two?" Brie asked again, brown eyes shifting between the two women.

"I was twenty-two," came Meredith's reply.

Paige was next with a gentle "eighteen."

"So you're twenty-six," Brie motioned to Meredith, "you're twenty-two," she said to Paige, "and I'm thirty-one. God, I feel old."

"Should start calling you mom." Paige quipped.

Brie didn't laugh. "Woulda been one."

The talking quickly stopped after that.

In some ways, Meredith found it a little funny that each of them had been pulled into this mess by their interest or friendship with one of the Shield guys. But she also knew that each of them had been put through some horrible things, and that was no laughing matter at all.

And then Meredith's face pulled as a wave of ringing flooded her ears, pushing through her brain. She gripped her head tightly between her hands and groaned, didn't even realise Brie's hands on her back, because all she wanted to do was take her brain out and clean it— it felt impure, like someone was dragging it through mud, like someone was trying to get into her head, and there was fleeting thought of Sister Abigail's drug, but as quick as it was there, it was gone.

The ringing in her ears slowly subsided and Meredith sucked in a long breath, could finally hear her own gasping breaths, the soft words that Brie Bella was whispering.

"…breathe, Meredith, deep breaths, c'mon."

Gingerly, Meredith pulled her hands out of her hair and rubbed her eyes. "I don't even know what the fuck that was…"

"Panic attack, maybe?" Paige tried to offer from where she was sitting.

"No, it was like…" Meredith shuddered at the thought of it and shook her head. "It was like someone was trying to get into my head."

But at her words, Brie paled. "Ringing in your ears?"

"Yeah."

Immediately she was reaching for the silver gun tucked into the back of her pants.

Paige was up instantly, wide eyes looking at the Bella twin. "What's going on, Brie?"

"We've got company."

"Who?"

Fear flashed in the older woman's eyes and Meredith pushed away, tried to gauge both her and Paige's reactions with the next words.

"The Wyatt Family."

* * *

 **dundunduuuun. gee, they never get a break, do they? oh wellllsssss. sorry about the time it took for an update and how short this chapter is, i've been swamped with uni work and other shit, and also i apologise for any mistakes or errors :)**

 **to _Hollarious969_ (** me? writing fluff? if i'm not feeling sadistic, sure ;) thank you for the review! **), _Nangel4_ (** weeeee you're right! Heyman is NOT on HHH's side! glad you enjoyed the chapter, hope you like this one too! **), _quinzel_ _harley_ (** YOU definitely want more fluff! dunno about it, though ;) do you kidna see where i'm going with this now?! hope you enjoy this update! **), _Paisley2_ (** seems The Shield can be bribed, too... huehuehue. p.s, i saw Darryl and Michonne in your DP and was reminded of how badly I wanted a WWE/Walking Dead crossover *heart eyes* **), and _Next-to-Nerdy_ (** how _did_ you miss this?! ;) Paige is so sassy, it's refreshing! the sadist in me is looking forward to writing this fight... **), thank you so much for taking the time to review and let me know what you think of this chapter!**

 **until next time xx**


	23. Can You Feel My Heart

**Can You Feel My Heart**

It was no secret that Hunter Hearst Helmsley and Stephanie McMahon had manipulated a _lot_ of people to get what they wanted, to get the power they had. Yet, it wasn't until Triple H put a punt on the three men who would be later referred to as The Shield that his reign came full swing.

Dean knew the day well. It was the 18th of July, 2011 when the floods had ripped through most of America. People were lucky to get out alive and it must've been by fate that he'd been thrown into the deep end with Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns— yet that didn't happen until over a year after the fateful day. He hadn't seen the outside world for months when he was forced into a room with a gun pointed at his head, and then… Kane spared him. Hunter had spared him for the possibility of an insurance plan.

For seven months, The Shield was at The Authority's beck and call. They did everything Hunter ordered them to do; they beat up, they prosecuted, they travelled to find more land.

But something had changed between the three. They were no longer three separate men thrown together in a desperate attempt for intimidation, they were _brothers_. And they had each other's backs through thick and thin.

When Hunter caught wind of a group of people who didn't live under his rule, it was almost like something in him snapped. He found their leader, a man that went by the name of Cena, and put a bullet between his eyes. His girlfriend was next, but mostly for her affiliation Daniel Bryan— the Bella's went everywhere together, and when Stephanie snapped Nikki's neck, they realised they'd killed the wrong twin. But the warning was there, and Brie Bella disappeared into the night.

It was around that time that Dean, in a drunken stupor, got into a fist fight with some red-headed asshole. The woman he was having a fling with was the next to die.

The understanding between The Shield and Hunter Hearst Helmsley had never been clearer — _don't step out of line and you won't get hurt_. And for almost a year, that was how The Shield operated. Tightly, without hesitation, without a second thought. Yet, when they did, when they paused instead of killing a tattooed man, Kane was there. Fists flew and the three men were left on the ground bloodied and bruised and barely breathing. Resentment was harboured. And Roman acted out in the only way he could; he punched Triple H.

Less then a month later, his wife Galanti had her throat slit.

There was one thing that Triple H _wasn't_ , and that was subtle. He had never been one for subtlety.

Just days after that, Dean was thrown into the steel cage for the first time and told he had two options; to kill Daniel Bryan or to sacrifice himself. But he wasn't selfless. And he was the one that killed Brie Bella's husband.

Roman had flown off the handle and killed eleven of Hunter's men in the space of ten minutes. Dean couldn't remember most of them, but there was a man wearing a ' _feed me more_ ' shirt and a tall man with greying hair and a smoker's voice. Roman had killed _eleven_ of them without blinking twice. He'd been in such a physical and emotional state afterwards that even Sister Abigail couldn't get to him.

After that, the only way The Shield could survive was if they split. So Seth gave Roman up as the murderer and had pinned Dean as his accomplice, Seth had betrayed them in order to survive. And somehow Roman and Dean had escaped the city. Dean had almost carried the Samoan on his own back to get him to what was just supposed to be a myth of a town, but when they arrived… they knew that it was the Ice City. Brie Bella had taken Roman under her wing and told Dean that she would never let him out of her sight, and she'd kept that promise— even when she'd miscarried Daniel Bryan's child.

Dean returned to Vegas with a gun pointed at his head and was once again given an ultimatum; fight or be killed. So he fought. Tooth and nail, he fought in that cage until it became the only thing that kept him alive. And then the only thing that kept him alive during his torture for Roman Reigns' location was the fact that The Authority made good money off him.

They hired the beast and his handler to finally track Reigns down and kill him. Obviously, the latter never happened. Seth was sent to follow him, and by April 7th of the current year, the beast had returned with the news that he'd killed Roman Reigns— Seth provided video footage as some kind of proof, but it didn't show Roman's death. Hunter never trusted Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman, so he ordered Seth to release a bounty for his head. It never stopped Triple H from showing the footage to Dean and telling him that his best friend had finally been caught and slaughtered.

For a long time after that day, Dean's eyes had been empty.

And then he met Meredith.

Meredith with her brown wavy hair and caramel coloured eyes, Meredith with her smile and laugh, Meredith with the way she accepted him the way he was. The same woman who sacrificed herself for a chance to get him to safety, the same woman who had shown him such kindness without even knowing him.

Now he was behind the wheel heading towards an almost guaranteed death.

At least he knew he could rest easy with the knowledge of Meredith being safe.

Fast approaching the car was the shape of Vegas. There was an eery silence, the kind that words couldn't get rid of, but it was different to the one before they'd stumbled across Heyman. Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns had the chance to survive. Dean didn't. Maybe he could play that to his advantage.

"Don't go into this thinking you won't get out," Roman murmured quietly. "Fight for it. Fight for us."

"I'll fight 'til I don't have arms."

How could he convince Roman if he couldn't even convince himself?

"Dean…"

"I'll fight." Firmer, this time, but still hollow.

Seth laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get out of this, all of us, Dean. No one gets left behind. Not this time."

But his words were drowned out by the men running towards them with guns. Dean slowed the car to a stop. There was no going back now.

—

None of them had even struggled when their wrists had been zip tied, their mouths gagged.

They should have kept the gags in.

Dean was in the chamber-like room where Kane had spared them all those years ago. _Funny how things come full circle,_ he thought to himself as he eyed the shackles they were being put in. The mental closed around both of his wrists and then the chain was secured against the floor, but he still had enough leverage in his to brush the hair out of his eyes.

"Seth Rollins, Dean Ambrose, Roman Reigns."

It wasn't Hunter. It was worse.

Beside him, Roman went slack. She noticed him right away. "It's been a long time, Roman."

"Should've been longer," he spat back.

Stephanie McMahon smirked as she stepped into the centre of the room. "No way to talk to your saviour, is it?" He snorted at her, but she ignored the Samoan. "And Seth Rollins, the traitor, the man who got outplayed… you were like a son to me."

Dean wanted to rip his ears right from his head. He didn't want to listen to her horrible voice, he didn't want to watch her, but he couldn't seem to look away. Stephanie stood in front of them with an alligator smile against her lips and there was a gun in her hand, eyes shining in satisfaction as she stared at the men lined up before her.

"I could shoot you all right now," she said slowly. "There's three bullets in this chamber. One for each of you. My husband would just have to find somebody else to fight, he wouldn't even mind—"

Dean lifted his chin, lips curving. His eyes were dead. "So why don't you?"

She turned to stare at him. "That would be too easy, Dean."

"Or you could save yourself the trouble," he laughed without humour. "You might as well press that gun against my head and pull the trigger while you've still got the chance."

Seth hissed out ' _Dean_ , shut up!', but it didn't matter.

Her head tilted to the side and she stepped towards him, and to his left, both Seth and Roman were struggling against the restraints at their wrists. "You want a bullet in your head, do you? What about Meredith? Your precious… _girlfriend_ who you wouldn't even give Roman up for? She mean that little to you? I could kill you right now and torture Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns for the fun of it, I could make them live without you."

But there were things worse than death. And right now, death seemed like a perfectly valid exit strategy for him.

So he lifted his hand slowly and wrapped his fingers around the barrel of the gun, lifted her arm so he was pressing it flat against his forehead. "Then shoot me. Shoot me, Stephanie. Put a bullet between my eyes. Shoot me, shoot me," he continued, but now his voice was louder, face twisting, body shaking with rage, " _shoot me,_ ** _shoot me God damn it_** _,_ or I will _kill your husband_ in that cage tomorrow, I will _tear him apart_ , and the only man who could _ever_ love you will be _dead_ and you'll have nothing, you'll have _nothing_ , so go on, go on, **shoot me!** " Dean's lips curved up and then his voice dropped. "Should I tell you how I'm going to tear him apart? He'll have a spine but it won't be in his back where it should be, it'll be halfway down his throat and he won't be able to talk because I'm gonna rip his throat out with my bare teeth, he won't be able to walk because I'm going to break both of his kneecaps, and when I'm done with him, maybe I'll finish what I started with Kane, 'cause Steph, I ain't gonna stop once I get started, I ain't gonna do anything but turn this city red, and the only way you're ever gonna win is if you put a bullet in my head right now, so just _fuckin' do it_."

Stephanie McMahon pulled the trigger.

Her finger tightened aggressively and her face twisted as she let out an animalistic scream, and for a moment Dean saw just white. But the gun was empty. She was plunging the trigger back and listening to it click against his head uselessly, and he'd never been so relieved in his life that his instinct had been right.

She would have done it. She would have killed him right there on the spot. And as much as Hunter Helmsley and Stephanie McMahon claimed to be untouchable, they needed Dean. He gave them money. And apart from that cage, he wasn't going anywhere. She _would have killed him_. But she couldn't.

Then, his lips curved in a smile that had steam almost pouring from her ears.

 _Got you_.

 **XxX**

 _location— San Francisco_

Where was she?

 _Who_ was she?

There was a ringing in her ears and she couldn't think, she couldn't remember anything, every fibre in her being was _screaming_ at her and she— she couldn't think of how to get rid of it or make it stop.

But there was a voice.

 _He's got the whole world in his hands…_

She should be running the other way. She _knew_ she should be running further away, not closer.

But she was walking down the hall, hands along the wall, fingers over ever bump, and somehow the room was spinning and everything was green, and she felt like she couldn't breathe because up was down and left wasn't left— her stomach rolled dangerously as she clutched against the plaster for balance.

 _He's got the whole wild world in his hands…_

A hand was at her face trying to stop the spinning. But it couldn't, and she toppled over onto the ground when her knees wouldn't work, but she wasn't alone.

There, at the end of the hallway; four figures— could they help her?

She reached out for the man standing in front of the others and he smiled kindly, and somewhere in the back of her head she knew she'd seen him before… but where? Why wouldn't her mind work? Why couldn't she remember anything?

Who was she?

 _He's got the whole world in his hands…_

"Please," she barely managed to whisper, and like it was nothing, the man was suddenly crouching in front of her.

Magnetic, stringy long hair, soft beard, soft eyes, soft hands as they gripped hers, soft, soft, soft… so gentle, so nice, so caring. She pulled in a breath and could hear screaming against the rush of air. Who was screaming— why were they screaming? Were they screaming her name?

 _Where was she?_

"Little hummingbird," the man said to her gently. "Let's take you home."

She nodded at him with hope in her eyes; she just wanted the noise to leave her alone, she wanted her mind back from where it had vanished. "Home," she breathed, "please…"

Who was she?

 _Hummingbird._

The man bent forward and pressed his lips against the crown of her head— and then everything went black.

* * *

 **CHAPTER NOTES; the tattooed man that The Shield DIDN'T kill is CM Punk. The guy in the** ** _feed me more_** **shirt is obviously Ryback, and the tall man with greying hair and a smoker's voice is Kevin Nash.**

 **so, a general recap which should help everything make a little more sense, Dean being stupidly reckless, and... Bray Wyatt manipulating Meredith? whoops, that's INTENSE (also awesome to write, so please don't kill me)**

 **to the wonderful people who left kind words- quinzel harley (** YES TO YOUR FACE! we trust Dean... most of the time. and you should be worried about Meredith, because what exactly is Wyatt up to? sorry for the no badass girl power moment... let me know when you're ready to kill me?) **, and Nangel4 (** OH NO, EXACTLY! I like to think that Ambrose is a Heyman kinda guy, so I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do it... writing Dean is honestly so much fun! hope you enjoyed this chapter! **),- thank you so much, and let me know what you think of this one!**

 **much love xx**


	24. A Smile Made For War

**A Smile Made For War**

Seeing Hunter Hearst Helmsley really just _fucked_ with Dean. He didn't possess any sort of mental restraint when it came to holding himself back, so when the older man walked into the room… he snarled and bared his teeth aggressively.

Triple H paid no attention to him. Not yet, anyway. His eyes were focused on Roman Reigns.

"The Samoan prince."

It was more of a way to mock than show respect.

He could tell with the shift of mood in the room that Roman's eyes had turned dangerous. The Polynesian was the kind of man to just glare, not say a lot, let his fists and his body do the talking… pretty much the exact opposite of Dean, in a way. His mouth ran when it shouldn't and he fought when he had to.

"You know, I didn't want it to come to this. I didn't want it to come to this, I didn't think you three would be stupid enough to let it come to this. But here we are. You know, I offered to reinstate The Shield," Hunter spoke directly to Roman, his body language relaxed and hands in his pockets. "I gave Seth Rollins the chance to retrieve you from the Ice City, I gave you the opportunity to live. And tomorrow you're going to watch me kill your ' _brother_ ' because the _architect_ chose to betray me instead."

Somehow he managed to bite his tongue.

"See, at this current moment, there's a spot opening up for my second in command. Seth Rollins no longer deserves to be my second. It seems unfair to me— it seems unfair to me because it doesn't feel right sending you into the grave. It's terribly unfair. And the reality is, it doesn't have to be that way. It could be a lot easier. It could be a whole lot easier, you see, it could be that you don't _have_ to follow your brothers—"

"Have you been listening to Bray Wyatt's sermons?" Seth asked lowly. "He's the one that usually preaches about saving someone."

Dean watched with his own smirk as the corner of Roman's mouth lifted.

Triple H responded in kind with his own grin. "Maybe I should let him in here, then. See how Dean fights tomorrow with Wyatt in his head. He should remember how it feels," he turned to lock his eyes onto the slate blues of Dean's. "Maybe I should ask Meredith Waters how it feels to lose all concept of her identity."

He could't help it— at the sound of his voice and the way he spat her name, Dean jerked forward in the chains. But again, he held his tongue.

"I heard every word you said to my wife, I heard what you were going to do to me. Should I tell you then that Wyatt's brought Miss Waters to us? That the second you even look like a threat against me, Stephanie is going to slice into her skin?"

Dean was growling low in the back of his throat, her knees bent like he was ready to launch forwards if not for the chains around his wrists. "Keep talkin', go on."

Triple H smiled at him. Like he was a _child_. "Here's the thing, Dean; you're not going to win. Tomorrow, that little winning streak is going to be shattered and I'm still going to be fourteen and zero. But the reason you're going to lose isn't because I'm _better_ than you. You're going to lose because your little— _family's_ survival depends on it. You lose? Roman Reigns lives. Seth Rollins lives. Meredith Waters lives. Most importantly, I'll show you mercy and _you'll_ live—"

But Dean had heard enough. "I'm going to kill you," he growled. "People have lost a lot of money bettin' against me and my boys… but you're about to lose your fuckin' life."

There was one thing Dean was certain of— the ruins of Vegas might have been under Triple H's rule, but in the steel? In the cage? That was _his_ yard. He craved that feeling of threading his fingers through the steel mesh, he craved hearing that sound blood made as it dripped from an open wound onto the dirt. Between those four steel walls, he was a twisted soul. There was no way Triple H was going to win against him. Not with Paul Heyman's words still ringing clear, not with the knowledge that he had everything to lose— a life in debt of Hunter Hearst Helmsley was no life. He had to have faith that Roman and Seth were smart enough to get out in one piece; if they'd done it before they could do it again. And Meredith? He prayed to whatever Gods were still listening that she knew what she was doing.

So as Triple H's eyes narrowed in response to his threats, Dean's lips curved up in a smile made for war. _How did you beat a cerebral assassin at his own game?_ You showed him you didn't give a single fuck.

"I don't lose," Hunter hissed at him.

"I don't care. I don't care if I win. I don't care if I lose. Tomorrow you die."

 **XxX**

Stephanie McMahon had this innate ability to make skin crawl when she walked into every room. She wasn't unattractive, so sometimes that crawl would be of lust rather than fear, but the fear— she could strike that into everyone's heart. With the way those blue eyes swirled… it was obvious that she was imaging ways to pull people apart. She seemed like the type on the outside. She _was_ the type on the inside.

The piercing blue eyes that froze you to the spot and wouldn't let you go until she had what she wanted— it was more of a spell than anything else.

Meredith wanted to scream.

 _How long had she been in this room for?_

Bray Wyatt had tricked her. Maybe it had been something in the air, maybe it was the left over effects of the experimental drug… but he'd still tricked her. He'd brought her back to Vegas as some kind of bargaining chip in The Shield's war against The Authority. And she'd gone compliantly until those blue eyes had locked on hers and Wyatt's spell was replaced with Stephanie's.

She felt like everything was moving too fast and that she was constantly being tugged in one way and then another, to and from and to and from, away from Dean and towards danger, away from her home and towards death.

That's what this city felt like.

Somehow, the ruins of Vegas were prospering and life was bustling and apart from the moss filled streets and an web-less country, it was like nothing had changed. But something had. And it may have been a city of survival for a lot, but it felt like _death_.

There wasn't a sun or blue sky, just pollution and smog and grey and _cold_. No warmth. Just death. And she didn't want to be in a place that felt like that.

Stephanie McMahon was still trying to unnerve her. Staring at her with a tilted head, trying to read the emotions flickering through her face.

"Tell me something, Meredith," the woman finally asked, "was this what you expected when Dean Ambrose walked into your life? Did you expect to be thrown around like a pawn?"

The silence was her answer.

"You know, I have to hand it to you— I didn't expect you to stick around this long. That's what love does to you, huh? Makes you blind. Stupid. Naive, even. Must be _exciting_ for you, yeah? Instead of being cooped up in a shed you can barely live in, you're here having your _life_ bargained for!"

The chipper sound to Stephanie's voice sent a shiver down Meredith's spine. She really did enjoy fucking with people's lives.

So Meredith tilted her head a little and tried not to let the fear show in her eyes. "Is that what this is? Dean's somewhere in this building bargaining for my life like he should care about me?"

Stephanie looked surprised. "Like he should care about you?"

"You don't realise who he is?" When she was met with silence, the mechanic huffed out a tired laugh. "He felt obligated to get me out of here the first time. He wasn't in love. He was tired and lonely and horny and all he does these days is a fuck and drop. You think by holding me here that you have some kind of leverage over him? It's not his business anymore. _I'm_ not his business anymore."

For a moment, silence seemed to echo around the concrete room. The words sounded odd as they came from her mouth, the lies tumbling so easily like she prepared them hours before. "It doesn't even matter. They're going to kill you all."

And that got a reaction out of the other woman. "They're going to kill us? Who's they, Meredith? _Who?_ Roman Reigns? Seth Rollins? They're in the basement of this building with _shackles_ around their wrists. They're not going to _kill_ us. They're not coming to save you." Stephanie pitched herself forwards until her hands were gripping the chair Meredith sat in, leant forward until their eyes were levelled. "Have you realised how expendable you are yet? Keeping you around must be like trying to save an anchor when stuck without a boat in the middle of the ocean. You're useless, Meredith."

Anger shifted like fire under Meredith's skin and she arched her head back and then spat into Stephanie McMahon's face. The taller woman reeled back and screamed in disgust, and she ripped a gun from the back of her pants, pressed it right against Meredith's head.

"Like boyfriend like _slut_ ," Stephanie hissed, "I'm going to kill you. And then I'm going to put your head on a pole and wave it in front of Dean's face, because I am the fucking _Queen_ of everything."

"Princess."

The woman recoiled and her snake lips pulled back over white teeth. "Excuse me?"

"You're a princess," her voice was dripping with satire, caramel eyes full of rage. "You may have been a queen once, but you lost that title when you sold it for a status. You will never be a queen and we will _never_ bow down to you. _You_ are nothing."

The gun was back into the waistband of Stephanie's pants and instead she was pulling out a scalpel— and with a start, Meredith realised that was _her_ scalpel, that was the blade Dean had given her. That was _hers_. But the only thing that was echoing around the concrete room was maniacal laughter.

"You're going to stand and look me right in the eyes as I put a bullet in your brain, you pathetic piece of shit."

Stephanie stepped forwards and slit the ties around Meredith's wrists and Meredith didn't waste any time. She wasn't a fighter. She wasn't a brawler. She didn't even know how to throw a punch.

But she was sick and tired of every single fucking person underestimating her strength and her capabilities, she was _done_ with being that defenceless, helpless, pawn used by everyone for their own gain. She _wasn't_ going to let them win. Not like this.

So as Stephanie McMahon undid the last tie, Meredith launched her shoulder into the woman's midsection, wrapped her arms around the slim waste, pushed her backwards until they'd toppled over onto the ground and the blade had spilled from Stephanie's fingers. There was a wild scramble and a strangled scream and Stephanie was slapping and biting just as much as Meredith was.

Fingers curled around her throat and Meredith found her back pressed against the concrete floor, the older woman hovering over her.

What happened next seemed like a haze, a fog, a distant memory.

Her dirtied hands searched for the scalpel and Meredith could feel the breath in her lungs beginning to burn, could feel the lethargy in her muscles, could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks.

 _Was this it?_

 _Was this how she died?_

Steel between her fingers. Widening blue eyes. A gasp.

With a grip like death on the knife, Meredith had pushed it into the flesh of Stephanie's neck. The woman rolled off of her and tried to clasp the wound shut, but it was no use.

She scurried away from the gurgling woman and watched, panting and hiccuping back her sobs, as the life slowly drained from Stephanie's body. Meredith ran the back of a trembling hand across her cheeks, her entire body shaking everywhere except the left hand which was wrapped tight around the blade.

Dean's knife.

He'd saved her once more.

Blood was still spilling from the dead body in front of her, soaking through the brown hair and pink blouse, pooling on the concrete so dark it was almost black. Stephanie McMahon was dead.

For a very long moment Meredith felt she couldn't breath. She was cold, shivering, her caramel eyes still leaking tears. One hand was out in front of her against the floor, the other across her stomach. It gurgled with a wave of nausea and then she was next to the prone body, whatever contents left in her stomach being thrown out.

Violently she threw up, again and again and again until dry heaving was all that was left.

She'd killed her. Meredith had taken someone's life without hesitation, without a second though. But wasn't it self defence? It was, right? _It was self defence._

Though her limbs were weak and still shaking, Meredith push against her tired arms until she was crouching over the woman's body. Blank, empty blue eyes were staring into nothing, weren't seeing anything, and Meredith drew her slender fingers across the pale face, drew the eyelids shut. If she'd left them open, those blue eyes would have haunted her for the rest of her miserable life.

 _God, what had she done?_

* * *

 **soooooooooooo, who enjoyed that little two week break? sorry... but at least i've finished university for the year (including my exams) and found myself a fantastic job, so it wasn't for nothing (and it now means I can focus entirely back on this baby)**

 **DUNDUNDUNNN, goodbye Stephanie... I'm not even sorry.**

 **to my beautiful reviewers _next-to-nerdy_ (** it's only fair since i have the nickname smalls that you get a nickname? choose one, lovely :) i had SO MUCH FUN writing that scene between Dean/Steph, it was /awesome/. also thank you for the compliment, it really made my day! **), _Nangel4_ (** well, hopefully that chapter quells your worries about Meredith... who knew she had it in her, huh? thank you for the kind words, I love hearing that! **), and _quinzel harley_ (** worry no more! i don't think i told you this was happening, right? surprise then ;) was this a badass woman's moment? tell me what you thought of this update, for some reason I don't really like it... **), thank you so much and I hope you'll let me know what you think of this one!**

 **next: _Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds._**


	25. Now I Am Become Death

**Now I Am Become Death…**

Jamie Noble's eyes were sunken. It was obvious that the other member of J&J Security, the other man that headed Seth's security team, was feeling the loss of his partner. What had even happened to Mercury's body? Seth didn't want to know.

What Seth did want to know was why the man was standing in the middle of their cell with his hands fumbling around a set of rusting keys.

 _Was he setting them free?_

"Jamie?"

"Sir, if you'll just— shut up—"

"What are you doin', Jamie?" Seth asked more quietly, his eyes darting around the cell. "If you help us, you're gonna die. You saw what they did to—"

"Shut up," Jamie hissed back at him. "I didn't come in here to have you try and talk me out of doin' my job."

The small man dashed forwards with a glinting key between his fingers and quickly unlatched the shackles from Seth's wrists, from Roman's wrists, didn't meet the Samoan's eyes with his own. _Was he afraid?_

Seth rubbed at his wrists absentmindedly as he stepped away from the wall. "Anyone know you're in here?"

Jamie shook his head. "No, sir. The coms have been dead since the crowds started pouring in and Stephanie McMahon is speaking to that Waters lady. Halls are empty. They're all positioned around the ring just in case someone tries to get through and end the fight how it shouldn't be ended."

But Seth's mind was already off racing away from what he was hearing. When they pulled Dean out of the room, the man had left wordless. Seth had tried to tell him to keep his head in the game, but he knew that it was falling on deaf ears— Dean would be too far away in his own mind already. And then he was thinking about Meredith. She was in the building, then; Triple H hadn't been lying about that. He couldn't get to Dean, so she was next on their list.

He lifted his eyes to Roman, then shifted them across to Jamie. "Can you take us to Meredith?"

The security detail nodded at him.

 **XxX**

 _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, please, don't let this be real_.

She was still shaking. There were tears falling from her eyes and hiccuped sobs falling from her chest, and she didn't know how long she'd been sitting against this wall with her bloodied hands pressed to her mouth, staring at the dead woman who was slumped over on the floor. Minutes? Hours? _Too long, too long, too long._

 _Stop_ , she needed to stop and think and _think_ and _stop panicking_ , but she couldn't.

And then there was a voice. Calling a name, calling _Stephanie_ , calling for the woman who she'd just killed.

"Stephanie?"

For the first time she realised that the door to the concrete room was slightly ajar.

And her mind started to race with a different kind of panic.

What if— what if they saw what she'd done? What if they killed her? What if they took her to Triple H— _what if they killed Dean because of her?_

Meredith was thinking too fast, eyes darting around the room to try and find something she chould protect herself with because that voice was coming closer and closer and she couldn't— she _couldn't_ — her fingers closed around the discarded scalpel once more and she crawled as quick as she could to where Stephanie was, scooped her hand into that dark pool of blood, slathered it across her chest as messily as she could manage. If they both looked dead, the man would leave them, he'd run and get some people to—

"Stephanie?" He was closer now, a sunken Southern accent reaching out towards them.

The door creaked as it opened and there was a moment of silence, then a hiss of a swear and Meredith held her breath, tried to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks.

But the hand that was on her shoulder had a hurried breath crawling into her lungs and her shoulders twisted, a strangled cry sounding at the back of her throat as she thrust the scalpel at the man.

" _Whoa!_ Meredith, calm down—"

 _No, no, no,_ she was shaking her head and trying to _scream_ the knife into his neck like she'd done with Stephanie, but there were strong hands at her shoulders and deep brown eyes trying to peer into hers, deep browns that were kind and familiar and— and _familiar_ , and for the shortest second Meredith paused and paid attention to who she was trying to stab.

"Meredith, Mer, it's me, c'mon, it's just me—"

He was speaking like she should have recognised him and she did, she knew that the man she was trying to kill was Seth Rollins, but some part of her brain wasn't connecting to what her body was doing.

His fingers tangled with hers around the steel and he was whispering, saying "you can trust us, we're not going to hurt you, we're not Stephanie, just let the scalpel go—" and she was gazing up at the other two men who were standing behind him, the large Samoan, the shorter man with sunken eyes, and slowly her fingers unfurled from the weapon.

And she was crying again. Pressing bloody hands against her mouth and letting the tears fall as Seth finally took the scalpel from her, holding it out towards Roman, and then his arms were curling around her waist and pulling her in against his chest.

But the only thing she could think of through her tears was _where was Dean? Why wasn't he with them?_

 **XxX**

The cell was dark. Darkness that flooded his senses and his ears, darkness that was everywhere and no where, and as he remembered the way that Triple H had spoken to him, he felt that darkness seep into his veins.

They had Meredith once more.

He'd always known that Roman and Seth could get themselves out of this mess with or without him; they were at their best when they were paired together.

But Meredith? No, no one could help her. The Authority's building was massive, levels upon levels, and they didn't even know where she was or if she was still alive. _Should I tell you then that the Wyatt's brought Miss Waters to us?_ Hunter had said, that grin like he'd won the world on his face. And then he'd promised that if he lost, Meredith would live. A web of words and promises that would be broken and so _desperately_ he wanted to curl away into a ball and never show his face again.

"You hit him until he doesn't have a face anymore," Roman had hissed before they'd dragged him from the room. Seth had said something along those lines as well, but he was too far away in his own mind to make sense of the noise.

 _You get me into a position where I can talk to the masses and you'll have freedom for the rest of your lives._

Of all the noise in his head, Paul Heyman was the one he next made sense of.

His head was a mess. He couldn't fight like this, he couldn't read Triple H if he couldn't read himself. The darkened room offered no sort of way to get his head right, no sort of relief— until the shadowy figure of a small woman rounded the corner.

 _Sister Abigail Wyatt_.

The same woman who's brother had wrapped his claws around Meredith and dragged her back into this mess.

He waited until she was in the cell before speaking. "Did you brother have a good trip?"

Even in the dark, he could see how her eyes flashed in fear and before she could turn and run, Dean had charged forwards and curved his hands around the slender neck, pushed her back up against the bars of the cell. She let go of a strangled cry and weakly clawed at his arms, eyes wide with panic and alarm.

"I feel like we've been here before," hissed Dean, "I feel like I gave you a chance to make the right decision."

When she tried to choke out squeaky words, he released some of the pressure. "I helped you," she finally replied.

Dean's lips lifted at the corners as he saw the colour drain from her face. She knew exactly what this was about now. But instead of killing her like he should have, he backed away completely from the Sister and perched himself on the bench. "C'mon then," he spoke lowly, "tape me up. Watch me win. 'Cause then I'm coming for your brother and the rest of those swamp boys."

With shaky hands and eyes that wouldn't meet his, Sister Abigail ran the tape across his shoulder and around his chest, secured his dodgy socket right in place.

"I didn't know…" Abigail tried, but her voice stumbled over the words in her mouth. "I didn't know what Bray was doing. He— he doesn't tell me anything, Dean. And when he came back with Meredith… I'm sorry. I didn't— I didn't know. I know what she means to you. I know—"

Dean snorted at her and pulled away completely from her touch, dragged a hand across his stubbled jaw. Then his blue eyes were locked on hers. "You think I didn't notice, Abigail? That you come in here before my fights and make sure I'm all taped up? Think I wouldn't pick up on the way you looked after me? What, do I remind you of your brother? Do you think I'm some broken puzzle you can fix? That if you play dumb long enough, you'll crawl under my skin?" He laughed at that, shook his head. "I'm not broken. And you can't fix me."

But instead of looking like he'd just shot her, Sister Abigail simply… laughed. It was like flicking a switch. "I can't decide whether you truly believe what you're saying or whether you're just that _stupid_."

"Bipolar as usual, I see," Dean breathed to himself. "Have to hand it to ya, Abs— I didn't realise it at first. I thought you had a crush, I didn't realise that I was your next _project_. I mean, Batista was your last one, wasn't he? Sent him away for three years and then he came back in pieces 'cause he was mauled by Brock Lesnar. How'd that work out for you?"

She thrust the tape at him and stood, backed away. "You don't want to burn this bridge, Dean. You may think that you're going to die in there, but if you make an enemy of me… my brother will be the least of your concerns."

"Your brother's decided to bring the best thing that's happened to me back into this fuck up of a city," Dean spat as he stood up. "If I get out of that cage, the first people I'm comin' for are your boys. And you, of course, but I might just let Brie Bella do her thing and tear you a new breathing orifice."

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Brie Bella will be _nothing_ if she lays a hand on me."

It was Dean's turn to smile now. But he was intrigued for once, found a curiosity in his bones that was like a fire. She wasn't the only one who used words to find hidden agendas. Eyes saw past what was there, eyes there were able to see past the words he spoke. He'd found it useless trying to hide anything, because she would always know— she'd tasered him once just to stop his pain. Or maybe she'd done that for her own personal gain. Yet now… now, he knew her words and her reactions. He knew what this was without her having to allude to it. She was firing him up because she _wanted_ him to survive. The times he'd purposefully used her, threatened her, hurt her… She wanted this war, her family against his. He just had to get out of that cage alive.

When her back found the bars once more, Dean realised he'd been slowly advancing on her. His eyes narrowed. "What are you planning?" he whispered slowly, tilting his head a little.

And then Abigail arched up and into him, pressing her lips to the side of his mouth, curling her fingers around the waistband of his jeans to keep her body pressed against his. He felt cold steel settling in the nook of his hipbone, turned his head away so her mouth was pressed to his ear instead.

"Good luck, hound."

And then she was gone.

He felt a shiver crawl down his spine and turned away from the bar in distaste. Dean's taped fingers pressed against the brass knuckles sitting between his skin and the material on his hips— this was her way of helping him survive.

Not moments later, they were escorting him towards the cage. The sound echoing through the tunnels was unreal— the stands were probably sold out, filled with people who wanted to see both of them bleed until they died. And in the centre, in the middle of the cage, was a shirtless Hunter Hearst Helmsley, a sledgehammer hung over his shoulder lazily. Dean smirked. He wasn't the only one who didn't mind playing dirty.

Threading his fingers through the steel mesh, eyes staring into the caged ring, he almost lost sight of what he was supposed to be fighting for— he just wanted the pain, like a Great White zeroing in on blood, and he didn't care whose pain it was. But he had to remember that they had Roman. They had Seth. They had Meredith. They would hurt everyone he had ever cared about if he fought back, but there were no ifs, ands, or buts. He wasn't backing down. Not this time.

Across the way, hazel eyes were assessing the way he stood at the entrance— Paul Heyman and his suit of silk, tongue like a razor darting over a pink mouth.

To win was to die. But to fight… to fight was to have freedom.

Hunter Hearst Helmsley had once said something to him. It had been a long time ago, when they were under him as The Shield, but it still rung clear like it was said just moments ago.

"Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."

 _Gonna have to run me over with a fuckin' car to get rid of me, sunshine_ , he thought bitterly. And then, with a voice loud enough for Triple H to hear him, he said, "I'm indestructible. I am the dirtiest, meanest, nastiest, most rotten son of a gun walkin' this planet, and we're gonna burn together, H, but you're gonna perish _alone_."

* * *

 **oh lordy, what a chapter! (i got it done in a day but TRUST me it was a BITCH to write!) i feel like this is the crescendo! like everything in this story has been leading up to this one point, and next chapter it's upon us! this calls for celebration, which is why i'm uploading this now!**

 **also, i'm full time at work for the next two weeks (until next Wednesday?) so i'll try and write as much as possible between then, but no promises!**

 **to next-to-nerdy** (Dean is ready for battle! No way is he going to give in easily. I'm glad you could feel the shock, but i didn't really like it... so hopefully her point of view this time around made it a bit more intense. and honestly, i would SO collaborate with you! thank you for the congrats! And your nickname... Non? An abbreviation of your penname? **), Nangel4 (** Hunter will _definitely_ go crazy once he's realised what Meredith's done... also, I'm glad you picked up on the RAW reference, I really liked the promo! Thank you for the congrats, I've definitely been a bit busy! hope you liked this one **), Nobody's love (** glad I'm not the only one with no remorse! i didn't even feel like prefacing the chapter with character death, I didn't even care! **), and quinzel harley (** i know you sent in a personal review on messages, but i'll still respond here- she will _not_ be missed, and yes; TO THE FINALE! **), thank you guys so much for the kind words and i hope you enjoyed this update!**

 **next: -like i'm gonna spoil that, but trust me, it's good ;)**


	26. the Destroyer of Worlds

**…the Destroyer of Worlds**

Punch and duck and weave and swing and _don't let him touch you, he doesn't deserve it_ — but he did. Triple H landed as many hits as Dead did and within minutes of the bell ringing, they were both bleeding. Dean had his life and many more to fight for; Triple H had his reign to fight for— he just didn't know it yet. Didn't know that Paul Heyman was sitting in the wings waiting to swoop in and steal a throne.

It was bare knuckle hitting bare knuckle, shin hitting shin, bone on bone and grating, bared teeth to show their warrior nature. Twisting and spinning and avoiding but still hitting and making it _hurt_.

Dean was fighting as hard as he could but he knew that it wasn't enough.

Every single twist of his torso was matched and his lean muscle was nothing when he didn't have the endurance to dance around Triple H. Triple H, who was this hulking mass of muscle, thick skin that was almost impenetrable.

He was one swing too slow and Hunter capitalised, drove a knee into his chest and twisted his taped shoulder at an awkward angle, swept his legs out from under him so he landed on the socket with a pained yelp. The Game was on his knees then and pushing the bone of one into his shoulder, digging it into the dirt and Dean was screaming, his lips pulling down, but _no, no, nononono,_ he wasn't going to let pre-existing injuries be his undoing, so through his groans, Dean managed to push onto his elbows, crawl away.

Hunter Hearst Helmsley was right after him. A kick to his gut, at his face— he heard his nose crack under the pressure and his face pulled in pain, a fist automatically coming up to knock it back into place (because what he really needed was another person beating him up, even if it was himself).

In a winding sequence of moves, Hunter picked his body up from the dirt and then threw him back over his head, slung his spine onto the ground like he was trying to break it in half, drove half a dozen fists into the lean muscle of his stomach, and Dean felt like the breath he was sucking in wasn't making any difference to the oxygen deprivation in his lethargic muscles.

And then something miraculous seemed to happen.

The sound of ten thousand voices filed his broken lungs, willed him upwards and back into this fight— he had to approach it differently, had to look at it objectively. The sledgehammer had been kicked to the side of the cage and Triple H's eye was swollen shut, blood dripping from his knuckles matching the blood dripping from Dean's, his thigh bruised and scraped and the battered skin visible through his ripped jeans.

He stopped trying to care about the consequences of his actions. If his _family_ were going to die because of him, he would make every punch count, every kick count, every knee to the face count.

Dean's lip was split and puffy and he'd bit his tongue after a particularly strong punch to the temple, and parts of his head were fuzzy and his eyes were moving too quickly for his brain to follow, but he could still see and that was almost like a blessing. His fingers itched to curl around the brass knuckles, but no, not yet— he had to be patient for once, had to wait until the opportunity presented itself.

Triple H stepped towards him and Dean followed suit, darted forwards, a left hook catching ribs and earning a disgruntled moan. A block, knee to the stomach. He flew back and landed on his hip with a cry.

"You think you can beat me?!" Hunter screamed as he moved to stand over the fallen body. "You think you're better than me?!"

He choked while drawing a breath into his lungs, turned over onto his stomach to try and protect the dog shoulder. A boot was driven into his stomach and Dean rasped loudly for any kind of air.

"I'm the _Game!_ The _cerebral assassin!_ You think you're even _half_ the man _I_ am?!"

 _Good, let him waste his breath, the strength left in his chest_.

And then he could hear it, like a whisper at first, a lullaby in the wind, the crowd chanting together as their mouths moved over two syllables, a drawl, a battle cry, louder and louder until _Aaaammmbbrroooose, Aaaammmbbrroooose,_ was all that filled his head.

They were chanting for him.

 _Dirtiest, meanest, nastiest, most rotten son of a gun walkin' this planet_ , he'd said, and here he was on his hands and knees crawling away from the man that was going to enjoy killing him.

But the crowd— they'd shifted something in Hunter Hearst Helmsley, they'd started chanting for someone that wasn't their king and it flipped something in his head and it showed on his face. Dean watched through a haze as the man turned away and limped to the centre of the cage, his mouth turning down in an ugly show of authority.

"Chant for him! Chant for him, Vegas, because when he dies by my hands— that's the last you'll ever see of him!" Even without a microphone, his voice boomed through the stands. But as soon as he'd finished talking, the wave of his name became stronger and stronger. He could feel the power of their voices in his bones. Hunter didn't have that power; he was the one that caused their pain, so he was the one they wanted to lose.

 _Now_. Now was the time.

Sluggishly, because his head was still a mess of noise and rushing blood, Dean slipping his fingers past the waistband of his jeans and pulled at the weapon until the brass was wrapped across his knuckles. He felt like somewhere in the back of his head, a more childish, playful conscience was saying _level up_. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

How long had they been in here for?

Dean couldn't even possibly string together how much time had passed since the first lock up… but this— this would be their last.

He pushed himself onto unsteady arms and his lips pulled back over his teeth. _Never turn your back on a lunatic_ , he wanted to scream, but Triple H had noticed his change in position and smiled, turned completely towards him.

"You don't know when to give up, do you, Ambrose?"

A vicious grin curled across Dean's lips and he darted forward, the sound of his name being used as a war cry in every part of his body, and his arm pulled back, his body twisting, and the sound of metal across bone was loud enough to elicit a collective gasp from the stands. But he didn't stop at that. As Triple H retreated, holding his face between bloodied hands, Dean advanced. Chop, jab, chop, jab, sending Hunter reeling back into the cage with the force of his hits and the strength of his defiance.

The man's chest was already beginning to bruise in the shape of the brass knuckles and the skin across his left cheekbone was split, blood spilling down over his mouth.

Again and again Dean slammed the brass fist into Hunter's body, revelled in the sound of his pain, followed the writhing body around the cage with his feet and his knees and his elbows, and when Hunter looked up at him pathetically, Dean stopped. A brown eye was swollen shut, blood covering most of his face, dirt gathered on the side of his shaven head where he'd fallen to the ground, lumps forming across his cheeks and jaw.

It was time to end this battle.

He dragged the broken man to his feet. He felt like saying _this is for us_ , but that would have been a lie— this was for _him_ , this was for Dean. So, instead of saying anything, he chicken-winged thick arms behind a bruised back and tucked the man's head between his arm and his ribs, and then, with his eyes lifted to the sky, drove Triple H's head into the ground so hard it felt _right_ , like a deed done dirty.

He wouldn't get back up after that, _he wouldn't_ , so Dean raised his head to the official caller and rasped out a "call it", and the man did.

For ten long seconds he waited. He'd fallen to his knees at the fifth, tilted his head to the sky at the eighth, closed his eyes at the tenth. Breathed in a long breath that reached every part of his body, because finally he could breathe, finally he could see the end— he'd won.

"Here is your winner _and still_ the _undefeated Champion of Vegas,_ ** _Dean Ambrose!_** "

There was a shift of change like wind roaring through the stands— the people were cheering and celebrating the bloodied man on his knees, but it wasn't over just yet.

Hunter pushed onto his stomach and looked around like he's whole world had fallen apart… and then he turned vicious eyes on Dean. "You just killed everyone," he spat, "you just killed the reason you were fighting."

Slate blue eyes lifted towards where Paul Heyman was sitting.

"You can't touch me anymore."

There were people in the cage and usually he'd forgo this part, when they came to ask him for his winning speech, but not this time. He looked across to Lilian, the woman who'd announced him as the winner, and he nodded slowly but pushed the microphone away when she held it to him. "No," he said, "not me. I have an advocate."

Somehow, as Heyman was escorted into the ring, Dean found the strength to turn his face to the masses. " _Your king has_ ** _fallen!_** "

The eruption of cheers set his skin on fire, so loud the noise had his entire body vibrating.

"Ladies and gentlemen—" Paul Heyman spoke, and Dean's eyes were suddenly taking in how the advocate stood in the middle of the cage like he was at home. "— my name is _Paul Heyman_ , and though I walk through the valley of a dead city ruled by a tyrannise, I fear no evil; for I walk beside Brock Lesnar and The Shield."

At the sound of Lesnar's name, the arena hushed into a silence. Heyman smiled but turned his attention to Triple H. "Let me be direct with you, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, and tell you something that a good _friend_ of mine said to me years ago. 'You can't leave a mark on the Champ's face. Come our next fight, understand when you step in the ring— your arms are just too short to box with God'. I can see by the look on your face that you know who I'm quoting, Helmsley…"

But as good as Heyman was with his words, Dean's eyes were pulled in the direction of the tunnels he'd emerged from earlier, his ears pinned for a different kind of noise.

And there— bloody and clinging onto Seth like her life depended on it was Meredith. His eyes slid shut once more in relief and he wanted to slump forward and collapse into the dust and never get back up.

Through Heyman's voice he heard her honey tone say his name and the sound of the cage doors opening again, and a few moments later there were shaking hands pulling at his hair and a body curling into his, and his Meredith was there and hugging him and she was alive, and he pulled away, peeled open his eyes, but stopped just short as he stared at her.

Something behind her eyes had shifted. And he knew. He _knew_.

But _no_ , no, no, no, **no** , she was innocent, pure, and Dean felt his heart crack as she looked back at him with a gentle smile and tears _streaming_ down her cheeks.

"Mer…"

"I didn't have a choice," she whispered, "I had to kill her, Dean, I had to, or she would have killed me and—"

"Who, Mer? Who was it?"

"Stephanie…"

While he'd been fighting against Triple H, Meredith had been in a battle for her life against Stephanie. He should have been shocked, maybe even more empathetic, but his face split in a grin because _the bitch was dead and her husband was out of power_. They'd won it all.

But Hunter had overheard.

There was a strangled cry and Dean turned just in time to see the fallen king launch towards a uniformed man with a gun holstered to his thigh. He was pushing against his legs then, pushing himself between Meredith and the gun that was between Hunter's hands.

" _You killed my wife!_ "

Three loud gunshots echoed around him.

Men in black and white had marched forwards and snatched the gun out of Triple H's hands, forced him down onto his stomach, but there was a smile curving his lips like he'd done what he'd came to do, like Dean hadn't moved fast enough.

Blue eyes darted down to his own body, tried to assess the damage; but there wasn't any blood spurting from a bullet wound and there was no immediate, fresh pain, and for the longest moment Dean thought that Hunter might have missed, that what had just happened was a freak occurrence and that it'd been all for nothing— until he heard the sound of a body hitting the dirt behind him.

Wildly, his head turned and his body pivoted, but what met his eyes made his entire body freeze.

Triple H had shot Meredith.

* * *

 **okay so i am sorry for this... been a while since i've done a point of view exclusively from Dean, so that was a bit different! the final piece of the crescendo, and now we deal with the fallout in the final three chapters!**

 **to _quinzel harley_ (** Meredith's emotional state was kind of all over the place last chapter, so it took her a while to recognise Seth! the end is nigh! it is! and it will be brilliant! also Sister Abigail and Dean? hot? that's a word for it! as i said, this is the crescendo, so everything has been building to this point- hope it's been worth it! **) and _Nangel4_ (** i'm leaving a lot of loose ends open just in case i want to do a second part to this story, and Wyatt vs. Shield is where i'd like to take it! everything lines up, i like how you see that! thanks for the review! **), thanks so much for the reviews and let me know what you think about this chapter!**

 **next: we learn how Meredith, Seth, Roman and Jamie got out of the building**


	27. New Blood

**New Blood**

 _location— tunnels to the pits_

Meredith felt like she couldn't breathe.

She didn't know which way was up and which way was down, and the only thing she was certain of was that Seth was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. Seth had used his strength to pull her along with them and though she'd never asked for the help… she was thankful. Maybe he knew that she didn't like to look weak or ask for help— but when she was shaking and hysterically crying, he didn't need her consent.

But now they were stopped and she couldn't breathe.

The hands on her arm and waist were tightened and when she gazed at him, she saw that momentary flash of fear shift through his eyes, she saw the way his jaw clenched so hard it pushed his cheeks out. Seth looked scared. Yet at the same time, he looked like he was ready to kill. Meredith understood all of it when she finally turned her head away from him.

Randy Orton was standing before them and Kane was perched slightly behind him. The hulking man with only one eye and an ugly scar down across the other. She'd recognised him from the tales that Dean had told her.

Again, her mind drifted to Dean.

He was fighting and she could tell because the wave of a chant was almost drowning her own thoughts, the roar of a thousand people was the only thing she could think about and all they were chanting was Dean's name.

"Stephanie…"

It was the large man, the one not covered in tattoos, and his pale eye was focused on something lower than her— and when she looked down, she realised that she was covered in blood, red smeared across her arms and her chest and matting her hair and then… then she remembered that it wasn't her blood. It was Stephanie McMahon's.

How could she— how could she _forget_ what had just happened?

It was like a lightbulb going off in her mind, like an 'oh hey, remember that _that_ happened?', and it was swift like a punch to the gut. _How could she forget?_

Roman stepped in front of them and rolled his head back, chin raised. Was he protecting them? With a shaky hand, Meredith reached up to try and wipe the blood from her hands, but it wasn't rubbing off and when her movements became frantic, Seth turned his mouth into her hair.

"C'mon, Mer," he whispered, "don't freak out on me now—"

"I need to get clean, I need to get this blood off me," Meredith murmured back, but it was more a groan than anything else.

"Ro, you good?"

The Samoan in front of them sniffed contentiously and spread his legs, rolled his shoulders back. "Get her out of here." She could hear the smirk in his words.

"Boss…" it was Jamie, the other half of Seth's security team, and when Meredith twisted her head to face him, he wasn't even looking in their direction. "Boss— we might have another problem."

Her eyes were shifting back and forth, between Orton and Kane and Roman and Seth and now she was looking past Jamie and at the hulking, shadowy figure of a man almost bouncing on the spot. She'd never seen him before, but she knew. She _knew_. The man standing in front of them was the beast. Brock Lesnar.

"Looks like you have too many enemies, Shield."

But Seth's mouth was curving up into a smile. "Lesnar?"

"Go."

Honestly, the sound of his voice shouldn't be as shocking as it is to her. It's just— odd.

Seth didn't hesitate. He tightened his grip again and pulled her closer, walked them away from the volatile situation, towards the beast— and his pace slowed when they stood arm to arm. "You let anything happen to him and I swear to God, I will _end_ you."

Lesnar's grin was his only response.

Then they were moving again, back down the dirt tunnels and away from the battle that was about to erupt.

She didn't realise where they were until she was staring at her reflection in a cracked mirror. Water was already running in the sink and Seth wasn't next to her, instead behind her and rummaging through a duffle bag— where'd he get that? Had he always had it? But soon enough he was holding a grey top and a black coat out, laying it down across a toilet seat, and his warm brown eyes were back on hers.

"We need to hurry. Do what you gotta do and we'll go get Dean, but we need to hurry."

He shut the door as he left.

Everything seemed like a blur, everything was red. The blood she was trying to scrub off her arms and off her chest and she was pulling the jumper off, the shirt off, digging her fingernails into her arms and hands to try and get rid of the red, but then her skin turned pink and it was useless.

Two months ago she hadn't even met Dean. And now she was fighting his fight. It wasn't his alone, but somehow, she'd been dragged into it.

She didn't blame him.

She blamed The Authority. _How could she not?_

Her fingers wrapped around the sink basin and she braced her weight against it, let her eyes slide shut. The cut on her chest was barely healing, but the scab across the top of it was starting to itch. The cut on her cheek was the same.

Part of Meredith didn't want to ever leave this bathroom again.

Knuckles rapped across the wood to the door and begrudgingly, the mechanic pulled the grey top on, pulled the tattered black coat tight around her shoulders.

Meredith looked at her reflection once more. There were black circles beneath her eyes and her face was pale, and she looked like death. She felt like death. But it was Stephanie McMahon who had died, not her. She scrunched her eyes tight again. _Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it_.

Sluggishly, she pulled the door open and Seth's eyes studied her features closely. "You good?"

"As good as I can be," Meredith breathed back.

"Let's go."

She felt more— _normal_ , now, walking through the halls until they turned into dirt tunnels. At least she could keep track of the turns and the twists, and soon enough she could even hear the roar of the crowd.

"I can't— I don't know what we're about to see," Seth's voice was slow. "I can't prepare you for what you're gonna see, but it's not gonna be pretty."

She'd seen him fight before, she'd seen the way his eyes became empty, how they were filled with purpose. So why was Seth trying to tell her that she'd see something different? Why was he preparing her for something she already knew?

When she walked through that dark passageway and towards the cage, she couldn't hear herself think anymore. Automatically, her eyes were drawn to the two men dancing around each other. But their dance wasn't easy to watch— it was clubbing blows and hard hits and Triple H was falling victim to an onslaught of chops and jabs. Triple H, with his swollen-shut eye, his broken jeans and scraped thigh, bloodied knuckles, cut cheekbone spilling blood across his mouth, bruised chest, bruised back, and then… then Dean.

It was like the voice of the crowd was the only thing letting his fists fly forwards. His nose was red and there was red across the cupid bow and across his split and puffy lip, and part of his tapped shoulder had come undone, but what was more alarming were the fresh bruises along his stomach.

"Dean…" she breathed, like she hadn't breathed before this exact moment.

Only when Seth wrapped his fingers around the top of her arm did she realise she'd taken a step forward. "Mer, you can't…"

But the match was done in the next few seconds anyway, and Dean's arm was being raised high above his head in victory.

A man who was as slimy as a walrus moved into the cage to speak on his behalf and Triple H looked like he was regaining whatever consciousness he'd lost, and Seth helped her step forwards and into the lights of the pit, and the noise around her was so overwhelming that she had to clutch onto the half-blonde man for support.

Then slate blues were locked onto hers and she couldn't stop her movements, couldn't stop herself and she pushed through the steel door and into the cage.

Her arms came around him and Meredith stopped short of collapsing, but he caught her anyway. Caught her and held her so tightly that more tears began to stream down her face. _Dean, Dean, Dean_ , alive and under her fingers and bruised and hurt, but _not dead_.

He pulled away from her, studied her features slowly, and then his face dropped. _He couldn't— he couldn't know._ "Mer…"

But he did. With just one look, he knew what she'd done. "I didn't have a choice," she tried to defend, "I had to kill her Dean, I had to, or she would have killed me and—"

"Who, Mer? Who was it?"

"Stephanie…"

She didn't know what to feel when a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Was he— he didn't hate her? He didn't want to get away from her?

 _No_ , no, why would he?

It felt like their roles were reversed for just the shortest moment. She was the hurricane spinning out of control and he was her mountain, her immovable object, the thing keeping her grounded. All she had to do was look at him and all the noise inside her head died.

A guttural, broken cry sounded from behind Dean and her eyes widened as she watched Triple H scramble for a gun. And then he was pointing it at her. " _You killed my wife!_ "

Three loud gunshots echoed around the silent pit. The people, who had been listening intently to Heyman, were now focused on them. Even Heyman had stopped speaking into that microphone— _when had he started?_

And then pain ripped through her chest and she tried to gasp, but all the strength in the world couldn't have forced her lungs to pull a breath in. Searing pain so hot, so white, and it felt like it was consuming her entire being as she fell to the ground— and all she had to do was look up at Dean and this eery calm washed over her.

But he wasn't calm. Once he'd spun, once he'd locked his eyes onto her figure, he was anything but calm. He had this look on his face like someone had whisked a carpet out from under his feet, but in the next second his entire face had pulled. It looked like he was screaming. She couldn't hear him. Yet he was still everywhere; holding her, rocking her, and faintly she could hear him, the scent of sweat and blood and _Dean_ surrounding her and— and he was everywhere. _He was her everything_.

This was her dues. Karma. She had killed Stephanie McMahon, and now she was going to pay for it. Now she was going to die.

 _She was going to die_.

* * *

 **i don't really have an excuse for the wait for this chapter apart from the fact that for the past two weeks i've been working full time... and i don't really get a moment to myself where i'm not exhausted, so im just warning you about the wait for the next chapter, too. today was a day off and tomorrow and saturday i'm doing a ten hour shift and i want to cry, BUT HEY, money towards my 2k19 goal of coming to america, so all's g**

 **also, the song/theme for the last chapter was _Warriors_ by Imagine Dragons (thanks Survivor Series for the feels) and the song for this one is _New Blood_ by Koda- go check it out :)**

 **to quinzel harley (** please don't kill me, i promise it's all going to work out in the end... okay, maybe not, but still- i value my life. also, i think that chapter (the previous one) may be the best one of this story? what do you think? nothing is happening to Dean bby, Dean is bae **) and NoN (** no promises... i like that response to the chapter tho, i was smiling like crazy while reading it **), thanks so much for the kind words, and also don't kill me for this chapter, i feel like Meredith's POV is especially important in this part of the story.**

 **two more chapters to go!**

 **xx**


	28. Ain't No Sunshine

**Ain't No Sunshine**

"Meredith?! _Meredith!_ "

Her eyes were glazed over, but she wasn't fading— there were tears of pain leaking from the sides, trailing down across pale cheeks, and her lips pursed as she tried to hold her gasps in.

Seth watched in dismay as Dean rocked her in his arms. He couldn't believe what was happening. He didn't want to believe it. Part of him— part of him wasn't even surprised. _How could he think that?_ It was true, though. He'd expected one of them to die, but none of them had, and now someone— now _Meredith_ was taking their place. And Dean… Dean was never going to love again if she died. He was never going to be the same, he'd never have that brief glint of happiness in his eyes.

"Meredith, Meredith, c'mon," Dean said again, his eyes scrunched as he stared down at the mechanic, "please, please— just breathe, okay? I know it hurts, fuck— I _know_ how much it hurts, but you just gotta breathe, okay?"

But she was short of breath, wheezing, and Seth knew without even having to be told that the bullet had punctured a lung. It had gone right through her chest. Right where her heart was.

And Dean looked like his whole world was falling apart in front of his eyes.

"Dean— Dean—"

"I'm here, I'm not goin' anywhere."

Seth felt like he was intruding. The words were so intimate that he wanted to walk away, but he couldn't. His eyes lifted to where Heyman was standing open mouthed and almost felt like the walrus was the picture perfect reaction, but he knew the man didn't really care for Meredith like they did.

He was walking before he could stop himself, his movements drawing Heyman's attention. "You've got the throne now, Paul," Seth said evenly. "What's your call? Get a doctor or let her die?"

Ugly hazel eyes shifted from where Dean was haunched over Meredith to where Seth had left Jamie Noble standing. Then Paul Heyman raised his chin. "Mr Noble, find Sister Abigail and send her out here. I want my Beast, too."

"Yes, Sir."

The short and scrawny Southern man scurried off in the direction of the caves and disappeared into the shadows, and once more Seth's eyes were drawn back to where Meredith was laying in Dean's arms. In the echoey pit, it was hard not to hear every single word whispered between them.

"You promised me, you _promised_ me, Meredith, you promised that you weren't going anywhere, that you wouldn't leave me, so don't you _dare_ break that promise, you hear me?"

Dean was crying. Tears streaming down across his cheeks and falling past his scruffy, swollen jaw. Dripping right onto her shirt. She was struggling to breathe. Coughing and wheezing out blood in a fine mist, and she must have been in so much pain— but no, she wouldn't feel it. Seth had been shot before. It wasn't a burning pain. It was like his veins had turned to ice.

"I can't— I can't," whispered Meredith, "I'm sorry— I'm so sorry…"

"Don't, don't you dare."

Seth turned his head and closed his eyes, dragged a hand down his face. _Fuck_.

When he opened them, he wasn't surprised to see a group of people approaching from the tunnels. Roman, covered in bruises and blood, some of it his, some of it not, Lesnar, the Wyatt siblings. _Of course Bray would come out with her_ , Seth thought bitterly. Dean wouldn't let Meredith go with Bray around.

Roman's face pulled at the sight of Dean crumpled on the ground.

There was a slight tug to the corner of Abigail's mouth, and despite the threatening Wyatt twin watching over everyone like a hawk, he bared his teeth at her.

"Don't leave me, Mer, don't let me drown here without you, I can't do this without you, please, please, please, I can't," and as Dean finished, Meredith's eyes slid shut.

"We won't drown," she barely whispered, "we're not gonna drown. I promise. You can survive this. You don't need me, you're strong enough for the both of us. Be brave. For us."

Meredith was stunning, even in death, and Seth felt his own heart tug. The woman who'd selflessly thrown herself into this battle had taken a bullet intended for each of them like she'd meant to do it all along. She hadn't. But then, she had.

"Meredith," whispered Dean, and his chin quivered as he placed his forehead against hers. "I promise…"

Sister Abigail crouched next to where they were, but she didn't dare reach out a hand to try and coax her from his arms. He would much sooner slit her throat than let her take Meredith from him, and Seth knew that without even having to look him in the eyes.

Still, when she reached out a hand, his own shot out and fingers curled around her wrist, his face turning into an ugly, broken snarl, eyes finally shifting from the mechanic. Her eyes became more angry than anything else.

"I know you could never trust me," Abigail hissed at him, "but if you want her to live, I am her _best_ chance at survival."

"Dean," Bray said, almost songlike, and Seth felt a shiver crawl down his spine at the tone, "if you hurt my sister—" he broke off, but the unspoken threat was loud and clear.

The feral look never left Dean's eyes.

"Bray."

Her voice was soft but commanding, and when the man glided to where they sat and kneeled, his arms reaching under Meredith's body, Dean didn't fight it. The transition was easy and with the way Meredith's head fell back limply, it was obvious the woman had lost consciousness. Seth frowned as he watched the siblings walk away with Meredith.

And even when they'd disappeared into the shadows— Dean was sat on the ground staring into the empty space that Meredith had once occupied. Like he was trying to figure out why.

"What happened?"

Roman stood next to him now, frown etched so deep into his face. "Helmsley shot her," was his almost silent reply, but it was like Dean had heard anyway.

His head snapped up and then around to where Triple H was kneeled, and there was a moment of stillness that swept through the pit as Dean locked his eyes onto Hunter's, as Dean stared down the smirking man who was obviously proud of what he'd done, and like comparing black and white, Dean was in a million pieces.

 _Numb_.

But Seth knew that storm swirling in his eyes.

Even broken, Ambrose still moved like lightening.

"Dean, _no!_ "

Seth dashed forward and looped his arms through Dean's, and the other man almost lifted off the ground in momentum as Seth anchored his feet into the dirt. There was a _pop_ , another one, and Seth cried out as he fell to the dust— _his fucking knee was screaming at him_ , screaming in pain, and without a doubt he knew he'd torn something.

A solid foot was braced against his chest and as he looked up, he realised Dean hadn't moved an inch. "I'm going to kill you," the broken man almost whispered, still loud enough that Triple H could hear him. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

And Seth knew. He _knew_ that Ambrose was going to make good on that promise.

Nobody fucked with him and got away with it.

 **XxX**

Every whispered and intimate promise like an echo, floating neither here nor there, coming from nowhere but staying everywhere, back and forth and to and from.

It felt like winter. Time blurred into nothing, lights turning hot, lights turning to sun, a nonexistent form of remembering what used to be, and sometimes it was dark and sometimes it wasn't, but there was an energy that seeped into a dying bloodstream. It was enough.

Enough for the whispers.

 _I don't want to be the reason that you die…_

 _I'm not going anywhere._

 _You're never leaving me, you understand?_

 _Not going anywhere._

 _I'll come back to you._

 _Come back to me._

 _I promise._

 _I promise._

 _I promise._

 _Don't let me drown._

 _We won't drown._

 _I promise_.

* * *

 _It had been almost a week and a half. She didn't know whether she expected him to come back or not._

 _Yet when he walked through that door, when his slate blue eyes locked on hers, this sense of relief and utter happiness coursed through her veins. Showed on her face, too._

 _Around the cut under his left eye, the skin was discoloured, black and blue and yellow, and his shoulder was heavily strapped. But he still stood there. Leather jacket, dark jeans, black top. The same man that had kissed her, living and breathing the same air that she was breathing._

 _"Dean…" it was almost like a whisper but it was there, and the hesitant grin that formed across his lips was enough for Meredith._

 _The first step forward was strong, the second more so, but the closer she got, the more anxious she became. Would he let her hug him? Would he be okay with that? So instead, she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and glanced over her shoulder._

 _"I, uh," she was louder this time, so he could hear her properly, "I cooked some lasagna a few nights ago. I—I didn't know… when you'd be back. But I hoped… I, uh— I saved some. For you."_

 _When she finally lifted her dark eyes to glance sheepishly at him, the smile on his lips hadn't moved. He let the bag drop from his good shoulder. And then met her halfway when she finally sprinted at him, throwing her arms around his neck as his slipped around her waist._

 _Meredith's fingers tangled through his hair and she felt his sigh against her neck, felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. They hadn't known each other long, maybe four days at most, but being here, being in his arms?_

 _It felt like home. Safety._

* * *

 _"Look, Meredith," Dean said lowly. "I know that you know this… but if you're coming with me, you know that whatever's waiting for you won't be nice. I don't know what they want from me, I don't know what they want from you, I don't know what the fuck is going on, but the only thing I know is that you need to get out of this alive."_

 _She opened her mouth, ready to pour out words that would get her opinion across, but Dean just shook his head. "No, no, you listen to me, Meredith. These people will kill you if I don't do what they want, okay? I don't fuckin' care what they do to me but if they so much as look at you the wrong way, they won't like the reaction. So the first fuckin' chance you get, get out. I'm done having people I love taken away from me, I'm done losing."_

 _"Dean…" Meredith paused, her lips pulled down. She had a million things to say and couldn't find the words to say them with. "I— I— don't act like you're alone anymore, Dean, I'm not going anywhere…"_

 _"They will kill you!"_

 _The pull inside of her chest was real when his voice raised and broke. Dean dragged a hand down his mouth and took in a deep breath, looked out his window to calm himself._

 _It was like a hurricane meeting a mountain. Dean was spinning, out of control, a constant state of confusion and rage and momentary calm, and as much destruction as he caused, there was no way he could move the mountain; Meredith's stability, her grounded, equalised approach to what was thrown in her path. She wanted to be the one to end that anger, he didn't want to drag her into his mess or destroy her._

 _Silence filled the space between them._

 _"I don't want to be the reason that you die."_

* * *

 _Meredith had been trying to smooth down his hair for the past twenty minutes._

 _He hadn't been able to sleep, hand't been able to shut his eyes without imagining the kind of ways Kane would torture him next. Kane— Dean hadn't seen the demon since he left the man in a pool of his own blood._

 _The beautiful woman behind him was leaning against the wall and his head was laid in her lap, caramel eyes staring down into his. "You didn't get much sleep."_

 _A tired smile was his only response._

* * *

 _It hadn't worked. She remembered nothing._

 _"Dean…" Meredith breathed almost out of instinct, and then his face was split in half by a smile and she knew. His name was Dean._

 _His arm curled around her waist, body flush against his, her arms moving from between their bodies to lace one around the back of his neck, the other twisting into dirty blonde curls. Mouth so close to hers but not touching, Meredith could feel his quickened breath. "Meredith…" her name was like a question on the end of his tongue. He was— he was asking if it was okay to kiss her again._

 _She'd barely managed a nod when his lips were pressing onto hers._

 _Mouth soft, stubble scratching against her cheek, but the kiss was almost feverish and Dean was kissing her with such force it was almost winding. His tongue slid along hers, twisted over and under and there was a faint taste of blood and like a wave crashing onto her body she couldn't breathe anymore._

 _He pulled back again, but his lips lingered on hers, touching softly as their breaths mingled. Meredith's eyes slid open, caramel brown on slate blue, both half-lidded, both clouded._

 _She remembered everything._

* * *

 _A smile curved across his cheeks again and Dean found himself burying his head into her hair, her neck, arms holding her body against his and not willing to let go._

 _"Dean," she was breathing into his hair, "it's okay, we're okay, I'm okay…"_

 _"You're never leaving me, you understand?"_

 _He wouldn't be able to survive that._

 _She knew what he meant, gently ran her fingers through his messy hair. "Not going anywhere."_

* * *

 _"You come back to me, okay?" Meredith breathed shakily into his chest. "I don't care how you do it, you just come back to me."_

 _He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I promise."_

 _She deflated when she heard how hollow it sounded and Dean knew right away that she hadn't expected anything else._

 _Meredith turned her nose against his chest, pressed her ear to where his heart was beating beneath scarred skin. His calloused hand traced along the material over her arm and even through it, he could feel her skin raising under the feathery touch. But then he moved it up and curled his fingers around her chin. Gently, he tilted her chin up until caramel was staring into slate blue and his eyes were burning, hers wide and— he saw the want swirl through them._

 _His hand shifted to grip the back of her neck. "I'll come back to you," he whispered. "I promise."_

 _And then he was kissing her, pressing his lips into hers, wrapping a strong arm around her waist to keep her close. Another "I promise" was breathed into her mouth and she shifted on him, threw her legs over his so she was straddling him, deepening the kiss. A groan sounded at the back of his throat as she twisted her hands through his hair, tugging unapologetically, and the grip of his hands on her waist was bruising._

 _But just as quick as it had started, the embrace turned into a tight hug, Meredith pressing her face into his neck and breathing out shakily and she held him._

 _He never wanted to let go._

 _—_

Every memory like it was tearing him apart from the inside out, every moment, every smile, every caught stare.

She had to live.

* * *

 **soo... who's crying? not me. it's you, you're crying. next chapter is the last one, hopefully i'll get it out by weekend :) the concept of the last part of this chapter is the whole 'memory flashing before your eyes thing' just before you die. a lot of this chapter is flashbacks, but hopefully it fits in well.**

 **to _Nangel4_ (** yeah, I missed your comment :(! that's okay tho, you're back now :) you always say such kind things about my writing, thank you so much! **), _NoN_ (** somehow, I don't think I'm sadistic enough to end it on a bad note... but thank you for the words! **), and _quinzel harley_ (** did u cry? bet u cried... ofc i'll end it with justice, i'm writing about the hounds of justice after all *cries even more* **), thank you so much for your reviews and let me know what you thought of this chapter!**

 **much love xx**


	29. We Won't Drown

**We Won't Drown**

 _three months later— 1,581 days since the first floods_

The lake was still, no waves, no shimmers, just a perfect reflection of the sunset. He couldn't remember the last time he saw the sun rise over the horizon like this, but the heat warmed his bones and soothed his soul. _How long had it been since he'd just felt complacent?_ The lazy, calm kind of complacent?

It had been three months.

Seth was still hobbling.

His knee hadn't fully healed yet and their local doctor had told him that it would be another three months before he could properly train on it. There was this sense of guilt that flittered through Dean's veins when he remembered that it was his fault Seth had been injured in the first place.

There were a lot of loose threads, loose ends, things that needed to be healed, dust that needed to be settled.

But Dean wasn't ready to go down that path just yet. His heart still tugged uncomfortably when he thought about not being able to fight. Some part of him knew that, some day, Paul Heyman would let him back in the cage. After all— he was of that breed, those bare-knuckled, brawling, kicking-and-screaming kind of people who didn't care how many times they got hit as long as they could hit back. Someday Heyman would realise just like the Authority did that Dean was worth a lot of money. Time would pass. He'd find himself fighting again, somehow. One way or another.

The advocate and his beast were in full control of what was left of Vegas. While a lot of people stayed, a lot of them didn't. They were free from the Authority's reign and instead were seeking life outside of the scarred ruins.

Triple H was exiled from Vegas. The Wyatt Family had followed him. He supposed, once they were all ready, that revenge would be next on the list. For him, at least. With the man and Bray's family still alive, their fight would never be over, and that still haunted Dean— especially in his dreams.

Roman never talked about what happened in that tunnel between him and Lesnar, just that Orton and Kane were dead. There was a mutual respect between the Samoan and the Beast now. _Whatever that meant_.

His heart dropped when he thought of Meredith.

No.

That scar was still too raw.

Sister Abigail had done everything she could to save the mechanic, but there'd been a lack of medical equipment and what little she had hadn't really helped.

Dean let go of a long breath and stared out into the sunrise. Nothing was as calming as seeing the sun again after such a long time of being shrouded in the darkness. Roman had been onto something when he'd asked for them to drive to the East coast. He'd never really liked being close to California but it had worked for him at the time.

"Can't sleep?"

A small grin spread across his face, head dropping onto the wall behind him. "Didn't want to."

"It's beautiful out here."

"Dunno how long it's been since I've woken up to catch the sunrise," he mused, "was always a late riser."

"You were the kind of person to get up at twelve and not sleep 'til four, weren't you?"

He smiled again at the accusation. "Somethin' like that." There was a shuffle of clothes and a scuff of a boot, the sensation of a body sliding to the ground next to him, arm pressed against his, leg shifting underneath his propped-up knee. "How's the physical therapy going?"

"Brie's treating me well. Should be good to start training in a couple of days, I guess. As long as she's okay with that."

For the first time since hearing the honey tones of her voice, Dean turned to regard Meredith. Her hair was a bit longer, the caramel of her eyes smiling at him mischievously. Same grin on her full lips. God, Abigail had done everything she could— but it was Meredith that pulled through against all odds. It was her fight for survival that had her pressed up against him again.

"You're gonna have me on my back in weeks, aren't you?"

She grinned at him a little. "Only if you go easy on me. You have too much pride to do that, though," Meredith giggled a little, turning to stare across the glimmering lake.

"Me? Pride?" he smirked, shook his head, then said, "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

It was an agreement the six had made when Meredith had been compass enough to suggest it. She knew that Paige and Brie could defend themselves in a fist fight, even a gun fight— the Shield boys could _definitely_ handle themselves. So, she wanted to be taught. Brie would teach her the mechanics behind a gun and the general rules of fighting, Roman and Dean would help with experience. And in the mean time, the Bella twin was helping Meredith get her lungs back into shape.

There were times that Dean would catch her wheezing and wincing and trying to pull air into her body. But there was nothing he could do. So he would just sit with her and make sure she didn't stop breathing.

The bullet that had torn through her chest miraculously missed her heart and every main artery, but her left lung had been nicked and it had completely collapsed. It explained her wheezing, her coughing, her loss of consciousness— but most importantly, it explained her survival. Her heart had been fine, but the life had almost been sucked out of her lungs.

"You're thinking about it again."

His blue eyes found hers. She was looking at him with a slight curve to her lips, a kind of gentle fondness. He didn't have to reply to her, because _yes_ — he was thinking about it.

He was always thinking about it.

Meredith raised a shoulder and turned her face back to the sunrise. The side he could see was illuminated by rays of pink and blue, and slowly her eyes shut, mouth soft. "It was just cold. Cold and dark, for me. At first, the pain was horrible, of course. But then it was just… _cold_. I felt numb. And when I lost consciousness, I could really only focus on one thing… and you know what that was? It was you. Your voice. The only thing that made any sense to me was your voice."

A frown tugged his eyebrows together. She wasn't saying ' _don't worry about it,_ ' she was saying ' _let's think about it together'_.

"No flashbacks, no light at the end of the tunnel, nothing. Just you. And I think that's what it was. It was you; you helped me survive. Part of me thinks that you won't leave my side because you're afraid of the possibility of losing me again, and I can see that flash of fear in your eyes every time I wheeze," she was looking at him now, but her face was still soft. "I keep asking myself why you haven't gone after Triple H yet."

His fists tightened on their own accord, nostrils flaring just at the mention of the exiled man. "I should. I should strangle him. Drown him. See how he likes it without oxygen in his system."

"But you're not gonna."

"How d'you figure that?"

She gazed at him again. "I don't, not really, but I have a feeling that you just— you're not ready for that yet. You know it, too."

"Maybe I just wanna stay with you."

"Maybe you do."

When Dean turned to look at her again, she was still smiling. The same smile she'd always had from the moment he met her, like she knew something no one else did. Like she knew the best kept secret in town. Like she knew _him_.

"It's weird you didn't get the flashbacks," Dean slowly started. "I did. I got every single moment we spent together. And— and I, uh. I kind of realised that there was no way you were going to die. You just… you couldn't die. 'cause I realised I loved you, y'know? We've known each other for two months and I'm fuckin' in love with you and I realised it while you were dyin'. That's my luck, huh?"

A sweet kind of silence flooded the space between them and Dean turned his face back to the sun. He wanted to drive under that sun. He wanted to drive with Meredith. Leave all this heartache and pain behind and start fresh somewhere knew.

"Run away with me."

Meredith frowned at him, but there was a childlike grin to his lips and his eyes were glinting with hope. "Run away with me, Mer. We'll drive and explore and it'll be just us and the open road."

"What about—"

"Everything else can just wait."

"The boys?"

"They'll understand." His whole body had turned to hers now, hands grasping on her smaller ones, and his voice was lilt with excitement. "C'mon, Mer. Let's get away from this country, yeah?"

There was a shattering moment where he thought she was going to say no. Then, her eyes crinkled in a toothless grin and she was nodding at him, nodding at his words. "Yeah. Let's drive."

—

 _days since the first flood— 1,590_

There was never an easy goodbye— so this wasn't going to be a _goodbye_. This was going to be a _see you soon_. Meredith had never liked them, because they were final, because they meant the end of something. And maybe, in a sense, this was the end of their beginning, and maybe, now, they were starting the rest of their lives together.

Dean was at the wheel of a car, sitting next to her, and their fingers were entwined over the shift stick. Behind them were Roman and Brie, Seth and Paige. She knew they were coming back for them, but for now? It was just them.

Being on the other side of death was a strange feeling. Everything was brighter, nice to look at. When Meredith had taken that bullet, she hadn't expected to live— but when she saw Dean's tears, his face, the distraught crying, when she'd heard him against all odds on her deathbed… she fought with everything she had to stay alive.

She remembered peeling her eyelids open and gazing around the pristine room, then letting them fall to the man slumped against her make-shift hospital bed. His mouth had been hanging open, drool slowly trickling out the side, and she felt safer then she had in days.

After that, it was like the skies had known Triple H was in exile and that his wife was dead— they'd opened. Rain had poured down on Vegas close to four days non-stop, like even the earth was trying to cleanse itself, and when it did end, the clouds had parted and they'd seen blue sky. The sun. Meredith had felt that sun heat her bones before the floods and she was feeling it again, and in a way, she began to look at it as a blessing. Dean warmed her heart, and now their fight was over? The sun warmed her soul.

She didn't know where they were going. The day was on flip-side, sun now setting in front of them instead of rising.

The road was empty. Not a car in front of them, none behind. Part of her wanted to think it was the road less travelled. That this was _their_ road. Their path.

She knew that Dean's escape was driving, that he never stayed in one place too long to get comfortable. She knew that driving was his way of searching. For something better, for a reason to stay. Meredith hoped they would find that together, somewhere. There was no way she could anticipate their future or see what was around the next corner, but she knew that whatever it was— they could get past it. _Together_ , they could do anything.

Dean ran the pad of his thumb across her skin. There was a small smile set at his lips, like he had everything he wanted in the world. Her. The road. The car. Freedom. His brothers, safe.

Dean Ambrose, the hurricane, her hurricane, her storm; he deserved that smile.

 _Dean Ambrose deserved to be happy_.

And when Meredith turned back to face the glowing sunset, she found a similar smile curving her own lips.

 _ **THE END.**_

* * *

 **OKAY _NOW_ IM CRYING! i could never do a horrible ending, nor could i hurt Dean that much, so she lives and they're all happy. **

**i kind of knew this day was gonna be emotional when i did finish it, but the happy kind of emotional. this story has literally been my test tube baby because i've never been so invested nor comfortable with a storyline. this had been the most gritty, hard hitting, gut wrenching story i've ever written, but it's still my baby, so thank you all for helping me get here to the end.**

 **i know that most of my reviewers don't want this to end, but unfortunately for now, i'm happy with leaving this story where it's at. however i _did_ leave it open ended, should i feel like i do want to continue Meredith and Dean's story. **

**to my beautiful, beautiful reviewers _NoN_ (** ahhhhhh nonzy, thank you so much! you know that kinda shit makes me blush, dont you ;) what do you think?! **), _Nangel4_ (** AHHH you're crying! trust me, that's what I was going for (that makes me sound horrible, doesn't it?) at least it's not sad anymore! :D **), the Guest (** your wish is my command! SHE LIVES! **), and _quinzel harley_ (** oh jeez, please tell me your heart's back together now? we're riding this out into the sunset, bby, all the way home **), let me know how happy/shocked you are with the outcome of this chapter!**

 **also, should you guys be that in love with my writing that you want more, i'm contemplating doing a modern AU with our Shield boys, a new villain, new good guys, new bad guys, and a new side of Dean that's gonna be fun to write :) it will be another Dean/OC, but this time have some Seth/OC and some Roman/Galina featuring tiny princess JoJo.**

 **stay rad and my love always, xx**


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